Life of Riley
by JoanieNobody
Summary: Stop me if you've heard this one: A former hit man walks into a bar... Guerrero/OC fic. Expect lemons.
1. Meeting Riley

**A/N:** Right now this story takes place before the series. Not giving any specific dates, mostly because I don't have any idea exactly how long ago this would be or how long a time will pass before the story ends. Also, there probably won't be any of that action-movie stuff, so if you want something more exciting, you'll have to look elsewhere. Same goes for those of you who do not like lemons. Oh yes, there will be lemons.

**Disclaimer: Don't own _Human Target._ Don't own Guerrero. Don't sue me.**

Guerrero needed a drink. He'd just made what was probably the most idiotic decision of his life and he decided to commemorate the occasion by going on a bender. Decades of life-preserving paranoia kept him from having a regular hangout where anybody with a grudge could track him down, but fortunately the city had no shortage of bars. Guerrero drove around aimlessly until he found one whose parking lot wasn't too crowded, pulled into an available space, got out of his car, and headed for the glass-fronted doors. Inside was a thin layer of smoke dispersed by overworked ceiling fans, dim lighting, and some kind of oldies rock all but blotted out by the constant drone of dozens of conversations. A totally unremarkable establishment; just the way Guerrero liked it. He wended his way through the crowded revelers to the bar, glad to see he would have some elbow room. Guerrero hated being squeezed in. He liked to have enough space to maneuver should things get hairy.

"Help ya?" the twenty-something bartender shouted over the noise. The man wore a black T-shirt and numerous piercings on various parts of his face. There was a list of numerous brands of beers and hard liquors hanging on the wall behind him. One particular name stood out for Guerrero.

"I'll have a Riley's."

"You wanna glass?"

"No."

The bartender retrieved a bottle from the fridge beneath the bar, popped off the cap, and passed it over. Guerrero nodded his thanks and took a swig. He hadn't intended to start off with something as mild as a beer, but could never pass up a Riley's Red Ale when it was available. He took another swig, then turned to put his back against the bar, elbows resting on its scarred surface, and scanned the crowd. An old habit, searching for possible threats. As far as the other patrons were concerned, however, the unassuming little man with the glasses didn't exist, and that was fine with him. After a few minutes he focused his attention on the women. Maybe he'd find something other than alcohol to take his mind off recent events. Guerrero never had any trouble picking up random chicks, no matter how far out of his league. The same techniques he'd developed throughout his career to manipulate and disarm a mark proved every bit as effective for recreational purposes. So far, though, he wasn't too thrilled with his prospects. There were plenty of gorgeous and even passably attractive women, but none of them really did it for him. They all looked pretty much the same after a while; slender bodies clad in skimpy clothes that showed off plenty of flawless skin, feet crammed into tight stilettos (How could they walk in those things?), hair elaborately styled to look natural, carefully applied makeup. Barbie dolls. Probably had about as much going on upstairs as the plastic figures they resembled.

When the hell did he get so picky all of a sudden? What did he care whether they could hold a semi-intelligent conversation as long as they were good in the sack? Guerrero rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, took another drink from his beer. God, he was a mess. Bad enough he probably made an enemy of the Old Man, now he couldn't muster the enthusiasm to get laid. What was wrong with him? Immediately a name popped up: Junior. Ever since he severed ties with the organization nobody was the same. The Old Man eyed his remaining "boys" with suspicion while pining over his abandonment from the man who, in every way but blood, was his son. Baptiste struggled vainly to fill the void while at the same time growing increasingly bitter with the knowledge that he would never measure up in the Old Man's eyes. And Guerrero … for the first time in his life he found himself doubting his actions. He became less and less inclined to follow through with the assignments given to him. It wasn't that he suddenly cared for the people he was ordered to kill … but now each time he carried out the task he would get a flash of that moment when Junior had him at the end of a gun, the certainty that he was about to die, and that brief, terrifying urge to beg for his life.

Guerrero scowled and pushed those gloomy thoughts to the back of his mind. Dammit, he didn't come to this bar to brood. He came to distract himself from his problems, give himself a few hours' reprieve. He forced his eyes to wander down the length of the bar in an aimless search for some kind of distraction and came to a halt on a solitary figure. Sure, she was surrounded by lots of other people, but everything about this chick spoke of isolation. Unlike the other women Guerrero passed over, this one was dressed in jeans and a baggy long-sleeved shirt. Her wavy mouse-brown hair fell to just above her shoulders. And she was drinking a Riley's Red Ale.

Before Guerrero knew it he straightened from his slouch and headed towards her. The woman noticed him when he'd closed a little more than half the distance between them. He saw surprise at the realization that she was his destination, then a shy smile. Guerrero smiled back, a mild expression calculated to make him seem nonthreatening. Must have been pretty effective, because the woman's own grin widened in response. Guerrero perched himself on the stool beside hers. "Hey."

"Hi," she said. She looked uncertain, as if she'd never really engaged in conversation with a stranger before. She didn't wear any makeup, Guerrero noticed. He could see all the little flaws others strove to hide: a couple of pockmarks on her forehead, a mole on her lower jaw, the wrinkles beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. She was probably in her mid-thirties, not much younger than Guerrero.

He indicated the bottle in her hand with his own. "Looks like we're the only ones drinking this."

She smiled. "I'm really not a beer drinker. Actually, I'm not a drinker at all, but it's my dad's birthday today. He would've been sixty. Riley's was his favorite, so I'm having one in his honor." She took a drink from her bottle. "What's your name?"

"Guerrero."

She raised an eyebrow. "Just Guerrero?"

"Yeah." He met her gaze steadily.

She shrugged. "Okay, Just Guerrero. I'm Riley."

Now it was his turn to lift an eyebrow. Riley smirked, lifted her beer bottle. "Told ya it was Dad's favorite."

It wasn't long before they got tired of shouting over the din and decided to take their conversation out on the patio. It was a chilly night outside, but at least it was quieter. Riley finished her father's beer and ordered something for herself. Guerrero was a little surprised she didn't order one of those fruity cocktails most chicks seemed to prefer, but instead asked for a Bailey's and coffee. She took a sip from the steaming mug and sighed happily.

"Thought you said you weren't a drinker," Guerrero challenged.

"I'm not," she grinned, "This stuff's gonna go right to my head, which is why I'm getting a taxi later."

"Or I could give you a lift."

Wariness crept into her expression. It made him wonder if she had a bad experience with a seemingly helpful stranger. Or maybe it was just him. He spent so much time making veiled threats, maybe he forgot to turn it off. He decided to change the subject.

"So, what d'you do?" Most times he couldn't care less about other people's lives when it wasn't important to his work, but he found himself genuinely curious about her.

Riley shrugged. "Nothing to get excited about. I work as a desk clerk at the library."

"Any hobbies?"

Her mouth twitched. "I read."

Guerrero snorted. Riley shrugged again, stared at the contents of her mug. "I'm really not an interesting person," she confessed, "I lead a very dull life. I mean, if this'd been any other day I would be at home finishing a novel or watching a movie. I'm such a homebody, if I didn't have a job, I'd probably never leave my apartment."

Guerrero found it interesting how her earlier confidence slipped away when she talked about herself. Most women he'd met wouldn't shut up about themselves and their boring, frivolous lives. With Riley it seemed the last thing she wanted to talk about was herself.

She abruptly raised her head and met his gaze. "What about you? How d'you earn your keep?"

"I'm a hit man." Guerrero wasn't sure why he blurted it out. Maybe he wanted to see her reaction. Would she laugh it off like it was a joke? Would she edge away and make some lame excuse to escape him? Neither, as it turned out.

"Oh."

Guerrero cocked his head. "That's it? Just 'oh'?"

"Sorry. Lemme try again." She leaned towards him, eyes wide. "_Really?_ How _fascinating!_ Tell me more!"

He seldom laughed. Smirked, snorted, scoffed, but rarely laughed. He forgot how enjoyable it was. Riley laughed as well, hand clasped over her mouth, eyes dancing. It made her look twenty years younger, like a little girl.

"So," Guerrero said once the laughter died down, "you don't believe me."

Riley took a drink from her mug. "I don't know if I do or not. But I'm not worried if it's true."

He frowned in surprise. "Why not?"

She shrugged. "I know I don't matter enough for someone to want me dead."

He stared at her for a long time. She didn't look away, even though he could tell she was getting uncomfortable.

"I quit today."

She frowned. "So … you're not a hit man anymore?"

Now it was his turn to shrug. "I dunno. But I left the organization I worked for."

"How come?"

He stared at the empty beer bottle in front of him, scooted it aside with the edge of his hand like a slo-mo karate chop. "A while back somebody else quit. He was the Old Man's favorite. The Old Man's the boss," he explained.

"Yeah, I kinda guessed as much," she smiled.

Guerrero continued, "Anyway, Junior, the guy who quit, he was protecting somebody he was supposed to kill, so the Old Man sent me after 'em. We fought, but I wasn't really giving it my A-game, y'know? So Junior got the best of me. Had a gun pointed right at me. He could've shot me—_I _would've shot me—but instead he let me go." It was such a vivid moment in his memory; staring down the barrel of that gun, knowing he was about to be killed not by an enemy, but by the one guy who didn't treat him like a freak or an exploitable asset. Somebody he considered a friend, maybe even a brother. And then he looked in Junior's sad eyes and realized he wasn't going to die after all. That act of mercy left its mark on him. How could he go back to blithely following the Old Man's orders after that? He couldn't.

Riley lowered her eyes, pursed her lips in thought. "You know what?" she said a moment later.

The corner of Guerrero's mouth quirked. "What?"

"I think I _do_ believe you."

And yet, two drinks later, she still took him up on his offer for a ride home. As it turned out, her apartment was only a few blocks from the bar. She could've walked there if her legs had been steadier. Riley lounged in the passenger seat, eyes half closed. The alcohol hit her unaccustomed system like a ton of bricks, almost putting her to sleep. Once Guerrero found a place to park, he helped her out of the car. She walked slowly, leaning against him a little for balance. "My place's on the second floor," she told him, her words only a tad slurred. She seemed more tired than drunk.

As they ascended the stairs to the second floor, Guerrero thought how odd it was for him to be escorting a woman back to her place without the intention of sleeping with her. It wasn't as if he'd never taken advantage of girls who had a few too many—he wasn't burdened with much in the way of a conscience—but the thought of doing that to Riley felt wrong somehow. That was when he realized that he actually _liked_ her. He could count on one hand the number of people he could honestly say he liked, and with them it took months or even years to get to that point. He'd only known Riley for a few hours and he already thought of her as something like a friend. He felt comfortable with her; didn't feel the need to hide behind a smokescreen of lies and flippant remarks. And though her life might me small and dull, she certainly wasn't. Most of the time when Guerrero found himself in conversation with someone he wanted to stab a fork in their eye in the first five minutes. Riley possessed an unfeigned honesty he found oddly refreshing.

"This's me." She indicated a door, fished a set of keys from her pocket. Once the door was unlocked instead of opening it she turned towards Guerrero, eyes gazing down on the keys she fiddled with nervously. "Um … you wanna come in? N-not to … I mean …" She winced at her own awkwardness, forced herself to look at him. She saw amusement in his expression, but thankfully no irritation or impatience. She bit her lip, a nervous habit Guerrero found endearing. "I don't have any experience with this," she confessed.

Guerrero smirked. "You don't say."

Riley laughed and some of her awkwardness eased. Guerrero reached out and took her hand. "Just say what you're thinking," he prompted.

Riley swallowed. "I want you to say with me tonight." She blushed.

A long pause. "Okaaay."

"But," her fingers tightened around his, "I don't think I'm ready to have sex with you yet." Her blush deepened. She cleared her throat. "This's really awkward."

"Yeah," Guerrero chuckled. He gently ran his thumb back and forth across her knuckles.

"It's just," Riley sighed, "I don't want to be alone tonight."

For some reason he didn't want to dwell on, neither did he. "Alright."

The apartment was a clutter of books stacked haphazardly on every available surface, discarded clothing, and a few empty cups left here and there. Guerrero snorted, "Looks like a college dorm room."

Riley laughed. "Yeah, sorry. Cleaning's not my forte." She yawned. "I'm really tired," she mumbled unnecessarily, "I'm gonna hit the hay."

Guerrero nodded. "Guess I'll crash on the couch."

Riley grimaced. "That couch's awful for sleeping on."

He shrugged. "Well, it's either that or the floor." He looked down at the unwelcoming hardwood.

Riley hesitated, then reached out to take his hand. "C'mon." She tugged.

Guerrero looked at her curiously. She smiled and tugged his hand again. "C'mon!" She led him into a darkened room, flipped the light switch with her free hand to illuminate a bedroom just large enough to hold a dresser and a single bed. "Neither one of us is all that big," she stated, indicating the bed, "There should be room enough."

Guerrero looked at her in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Sure. Why?" The barely suppressed grin told him she wasn't as naïve as she played at being.

He shook his head. "I don't get you. I tell you I kill people for a living and you invite me back to your place for a sleepover? In the same bed? Y'know, most people would think you had a deathwish or something."

"I don't have a deathwish," she said calmly, "I don't know why, but I feel safe with you. And … I've been lonely." She gave him a smile that was both sad and trusting. Guerrero couldn't remember anyone ever looking at him like that. It brought a feeling he couldn't name rising in his chest. He took a step closer to her, brought his free hand up to lightly touch her cheek. Riley trembled a little, but didn't pull away. She stared at him with liquid brown eyes. Guerrero leaned closer and brought his lips to hers. He felt a warm exhalation on his cheek as Riley exhaled. Her lips parted and her tongue slid out to meet his. Guerrero felt a strange flutter in his chest, something other than simple arousal. He released her hand and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her close. Riley brought her own arms loosely around his neck. The kiss went on longer than either had intended and ended with great reluctance. Riley grinned. "That was nice. Your mustache tickles."

Guerrero chuckled. He realized he didn't mind that she was too tired to take this further. Just being close to her was enough. For now, anyway.

"Got a spare toothbrush?" he asked.

Riley nodded. "Matter of fact I do. Lucky thing I was frugal enough to buy a bargain pack." She slid out of his arms with a look of regret and showed him to the bathroom. While Guerrero brushed his teeth, Riley took the opportunity to return to her bedroom and change into a T-shirt and pajama pants. Guerrero stepped out of the bathroom and looked at her in her baggy nightclothes. He wondered if all her clothes were loose and frumpy. It was yet another aspect of her that intrigued him; this contradictory mixture of confidence and self-consciousness.

"My turn." She squeezed past him to the bathroom so she could brush her teeth as well. By the time she returned Guerrero had stripped down to his T-shirt and boxers and was pulling back he bed's covers. The clothes he'd shed were folded neatly atop the dresser along with his glasses.

Riley went to her nightstand to switch on the bedside lamp, then went to turn off the main light, leaving the room in a soft glow. She returned to find Guerrero already under the covers. They looked at each other for one awkward beat, then Riley pulled back the covers on her side and slid in. The moment her head rested on the pillow exhaustion seemed to sweep over her. Her mouth stretched in an expansive yawn. Afterwards she rolled her head to meet Guerrero's gaze. "Hey."

He smiled. "Hey yourself."

She bit her lip. "Um, would it be weird if I asked you to hold me?"

"Yes," he said. She laughed and turned onto her side, facing away from him. A second later she felt his arm go around her waist and she snuggled against his solid warmth. "Thank you."

"Go to sleep," he murmured, not unkindly. Riley reached over to switch off the lamp. In the darkness she whispered, "Good night, Guerrero."

"'Night," he whispered back.

Riley closed her eyes and soon drifted into sleep.


	2. And a VERY Good Morning to You!

**A/N:** Forecast in this chapter calls for lemon. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't own 'em. (Except Riley.)**

Morning light filtered through the curtains. Riley woke gradually. The first detail to enter her awareness was the discovery that she wasn't alone. She stared at the unfamiliar man who lay with his back to her as her groggy memory dredged up a face, followed by a name to go with the face: Guerrero. She relaxed as last night's recollection surfaced and smiled, listening to the slow breathing of her slumbering companion. She wanted to reach out and place her hand against his back as some kind of reassurance, but something more pressing made itself known to her. She grimaced in annoyance. It was always the same for her on weekends; she wanted to sleep in, but her stupid bladder insisted on dragging her from her cozy bed. Sometimes she'd stubbornly ignore it until the pressure grew to the point of bursting, but in the end the Call of Nature always won.

Riley eased herself out from under the covers, careful not to wake Guerrero, and padded silently to the bathroom. At the faint click of the door latch, Guerrero cracked his eyes open. He'd always been a light sleeper—had to be to stay alive—but once he realized nothing threatened his immediate safety he let his eyes drift shut once again. It was rare for him to be this relaxed, especially in someone else's bed. Already half asleep, his ears picked up the muffled sound of the toilet flushing, followed by the sounds of someone brushing their teeth. A few minutes later Riley exited the bathroom and made her way back to the bed. She slid under the blankets, still warm from her body heat. Guerrero hadn't moved in the short time she was away. Riley inched closer until she could put her arm around his waist, a reversal of their positions the previous night. Riley snuggled against the warmth of his back and breathed in the distinctive scent of someone who'd spent all night comfortably asleep; mingled odors of sweat and linen and Guerrero's own unique musk. "Hmmm," she sighed contentedly.

Guerrero shifted. Riley loosened her hold so he could roll over and face her. She stared into his blue eyes, somewhat glassy from sleep. "Hey, dude," he said quietly.

Riley grinned. "Hey. Sorry if I woke you."

"'S okay." His hand rested on her hip. He slowly moved it further up her body, slid it under the hem of her T-shirt, until his fingertips brushed against skin. Riley shivered. She could feel her heartbeat quicken at his light touch. She leaned in to brush her lips against his, the hairs of his mustache tickling her upper lip. Guerrero moved to close the miniscule distance between them and complete the kiss, but Riley drew away, keeping just the same hair's breadth between them. Guerrero frowned in annoyance, which made Riley grin.

"You're a tease," he accused.

"Am not," she lightly brushed against his mustache again, "I'm just heightening the anticipation."

"Not cool." He suddenly pushed her onto her back, pinning her down with his weight. Riley let out a startled yelp and gazed up into Guerrero's intense stare. She tested his grip on her wrists; gentle enough not to bruise, but far too strong to break free of. Guerrero smirked at her experimental struggles. "Scared yet?"

She shook her head. Her breathing was heavy, the skin of her cheeks flushed. The pupils of her eyes expanded into deep pools. Not afraid, but aroused. Guerrero lowered his head, brought his mouth to hers. Riley expected a deep kiss, but instead he teased her with light caresses of his lips and tongue. Her mouth parted in response, trying to draw him in, but he wasn't having it. He continued to lightly swipe his tongue against her lips, to nip gently with his teeth. Riley uttered a faint whine, then abruptly lunged upward, crashing her mouth against his. Their teeth clicked together. Their tongues rolled and slid against each other. Riley felt his grip on her wrists loosen and slipped her arms free of his grasp, wrapping them around his torso. She wadded the fabric of his T-shirt in her hands as if she might rip it off him. Guerrero ground against her so she could feel his erection through the layers of cloth between them. Riley moaned and arched beneath him. Her legs went around his waist, holding him against her. Guerrero suddenly ended the kiss with a frustrated growl. "Dammit. I gotta go."

Riley was crestfallen. "Oh."

Guerrero laughed. "I meant to the bathroom."

Riley blinked, then burst into a fit of giggles, covering her mouth with both hands. Guerrero smiled and shook his head. "You're so damn cute." Reluctantly, he disentangled himself and crawled out of the bed. "Don't go anywhere," he admonished, headed for the bathroom.

"I won't." Riley lay on the disheveled bed, one knee drawn up and swaying from side to side. Guerrero kept her in sight until he shut the bathroom door.

Riley sat up and hugged her knees, face buried against the soft flannel of her peejays. It was all she could do not to squeal like a teenager who'd been asked out to the prom by the star jock. For years she worried there was something wrong with her; she'd never had any strong sexual desire towards anyone, male or female. But now she wondered if maybe she was just a very, _very_ late bloomer. She could just imagine the rivers of hormones coursing through her now. It felt like her system was on overdrive. The fact that it was all over a stranger she'd met at a bar the night before, a man who told her flat-out he was a professional killer, only seemed to heighten the overwhelming sensations. _I am really messed up_, she thought. And she couldn't care less.

Meanwhile, Guerrero was dealing with bodily issues of his own. If there was anything more frustratingly awkward than trying to take a piss with a hard-on, he didn't want to know. When he finally finished and washed his hands, Guerrero decided to give his teeth a quick brushing. Sure, it was a little late to worry about morning breath, but what the hell. Minutes later he returned to the bedroom to find Riley sitting up with both knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She smiled when he appeared. Guerrero saw excitement and desire in her expression, as well as a slight trepidation. He took a step towards her, then veered aside to make a detour at the dresser. He found his jeans folded atop, reached into the back pocket to pull out a small square package that crinkled in his hand. He glanced at Riley to gauge her reaction; some women grew angry at the knowledge that he habitually walked around with a condom in his back pocket, as if they expected the guy they met at a bar should be hunting for a relationship instead of an easy lay. But if anything, Riley looked relieved. "I didn't think about protection," she said, a tad embarrassed by her carelessness.

Guerrero walked to her side of the bed, placed the foil-wrapped packet on the nightstand, then seated himself on the edge of the bed closest to her. Riley let her legs straighten out in front of her, then reached for the bottom edge of Guerrero's T-shirt. He raised his arms, allowing her to slip the garment off him and let it drop over the side. Her eyes took in the lean muscles, the graying patch of hair on his chest, all crisscrossed with a network of scars he'd acquired over the years. She placed her right hand on his chest, directly over his heart. Guerrero cupped the side of her face, his thumb gliding over her soft lips which parted in response. He wanted to kiss her, but he also wanted to feel her skin against his. He reached down to grasp the edge of her shirt and she raised her arms just as he had earlier so it could slip off without hindrance. His eyes roamed hungrily over her small, perfectly round breasts, each just large enough to fit in his hands. He cupped them in his palms. Riley's breath hitched. Guerrero's eyes jerked up to her face and saw that her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open. He ran his thumbs over her nipples and was rewarded with a faint moan. He gently pushed her back against the mattress, hands continuing to knead her twin mounds. She was so receptive to his touch; she looked like she might come from this alone. Guerrero bent down and took her left nipple into his mouth. She cried out, arching her back to push her sensitive nipple deeper into his mouth. His tongue flicked against her pebbled flesh, teeth nibbling and tugging, while his left hand continued to massage her other breast. His right hand slid down her bare stomach, slipped beneath her pajama pants and into her panties. His questing fingers discovered the soft curls between her legs were already damp. His thumb found the hard nub of her clitoris and began to rub in lazy circles. Riley's moans rose in pitch. The sounds made his erection twitch. His fingers penetrated her slippery folds and he carefully worked one finger into her waiting heat. She was so tight, tighter than any woman he'd ever been with. Guerrero wondered at that moment if she was still a virgin. He'd never met someone her age who'd never had sex, but he reasoned, it wasn't impossible.

With great reluctance, his mouth released her nipple and he raised his head. "Riley," he murmured.

Her eyelids slowly lifted, revealing glassy eyes. "Huh?"

"Are you a virgin?" He tried to voice the question as gently as possible, but really, there was no casual way to ask it, especially in this circumstance.

Her flushed skin darkened even further. "N-no," she stammered, "It's just been a really long time."

He kissed her forehead. "It's okay. I just needed to know how careful I should be." As he talked, he eased a second finger into her. He pumped them slowly in and out, his thumb rubbing her clit.

Riley whimpered. "G-Guerrero …"

"What is it, baby?" He smiled down at her, still pumping his fingers. "Tell me what you want."

Her hips bucked against his hand. She forced the words out between gritted teeth. "I w-want … want you … inside."

"You want me inside you?" he whispered, face so close to hers she felt his breath ghost against her lips.

"Yes. Now. Please!"

He didn't need any further urging. Guerrero slowly withdrew his fingers, removed his hand from the front of her pants. His fingers glistened with her juices. He brought them to his mouth to lick her salty-sweet essence from them. He wanted to taste more of her, but his need was too urgent. He grabbed the top of her pajama pants and yanked them down, taking her underwear with them. Flinging the clothes aside, his boxers quickly joined them. Guerrero snatched up the waiting packet from the nightstand, tore through the wrapping, and put the condom on.

Riley's legs were already spread apart in anticipation. She stared at him with gleaming eyes, skin flushed and chest heaving. Guerrero maneuvered himself above her, his lower half nestled between her legs, his arms braced on either side of her. He then reached down with one hand and guided himself towards her entrance. He ran the head of his latex-sheathed cock over her wet and swollen labia, teased her entrance with gentle prods. Riley whimpered and raised her hips, begging without words for him to fill her. Guerrero just barely let the tip of his shaft penetrate her.

"You want this?" he growled, voice husky with pent-up need.

"Yes," she moaned. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she tried to pull him closer. There would be bruises later.

"Say it," Guerrero ordered.

Riley stared up at his flinty blue eyes. "I want you."

He froze at her words. That was not a phrase he normally heard in this situation. Not _I want you to fuck me_ or _I want you inside me;_ she said she wanted _him_. And he knew just by looking at her that she meant it.

Without another word, Guerrero lunged forward, burying himself up to the hilt inside her. She was so wet he slid in without resistance, despite her incredible tightness. Her hot inner walls squeezed him like a vise. "Oh, Christ," he groaned, fighting the urge to climax then and there. He could hear Riley panting and forced his eyes open so he could look down at her. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. She was biting her lip to hold back her cries. Guerrero kissed her, forcing her mouth to relax as she returned the kiss. "Don't hold anything back," he murmured, "I wanna hear everything."

"You sure?" she grinned, "I can get pretty loud when I'm excited."

He grinned back. "I hope so." He drew his hips back, almost withdrawing from her completely, then plunged back in. Riley gasped.

"You want more?"

"Y-yes."

He did it again, thrusting hard and deep. Riley moaned and bucked her hips against him. It was all the encouragement he needed to continue pumping in and out at a pace he knew he couldn't maintain for long, but he didn't dare slow down. Her hips rose to meet him each time; their synchronized movement deepened their pleasure. The sounds of slapping flesh mingled with her hoarse cries and his grunts. Guerrero buried his face against Riley's shoulder. He felt her small breasts bouncing against his chest and a familiar tingle began to build at the base of his spine. His balls tightened, warning him that he was close. Riley suddenly tensed beneath him. A loud shriek of ecstasy escaped her as her inner walls clamped down. Guerrero roared as he felt her come around him and his own climax followed an instant later. It seemed to go on and on, a long crashing of senses that ended with them both in a sweaty, boneless heap.

Minutes passed before Guerrero mustered the energy to roll off of Riley onto the other side of the bed. He removed the spent condom, tied a knot at the opening, and dropped it into a small wastebasket he found within arm's reach.

Riley reached down to pull up the blankets that had been kicked down to the foot of the bed during their earlier activities. As the warm fabric covered their naked bodies, Guerrero put a hesitant arm around her, pulling her against him. Riley smiled and snuggled up to him. "That was exhausting."

Guerrero snorted. "There's an understatement." He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. "Not even eight o'clock yet."

"It's Sunday," she murmured against his chest, "Sundays 're for sleepin' in." She ran her fingers through his chest hair. "How long are you gonna stay?"

Guerrero pursed his lips. The smart thing would be to go now. What reason was there to stick around?

"How long d'you want me to stay?" he heard himself ask.

"Right now?" she kissed the spot just below his Adam's apple, "Forever."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Well, I think I could manage the rest of today. That good enough?"

"Guess it'll have to be." Riley hugged him closer. "Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" he asked, just as quiet.

"For wanting me."

Her words startled him. Guerrero worried over how much she was already affecting him. _I should go now_. But Riley had fallen asleep, and he told himself he didn't want to wake her while trying to untangle himself and have to deal with her making a fuss. So he held her and stroked her sweat-damp hair. After a while, his eyelids grew heavier until he too fell asleep.


	3. Taste Sensations

**A/N:** Apologies for the lame chapter title. More lemon in this chapter, and I'll try to squeeze in some emotional stuff as well. Beware, sappiness may occur.

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Human Target_ or Guerrero. I'm not making any money off of this. 'Tis all in good fun.**

Riley woke again a couple of hours later to find herself alone. Guerrero's scent still lingered on the bedclothes. She sat up, saw his clothing was gone from the top of her dresser. Wincing from the soreness between her legs, she rolled out of bed, slipped on her T-shirt, and padded out into the living room.

"Guerrero?"

There was no sign of him. She checked the kitchen (no dice) and finally went into the bathroom. The inside of her shower was wet, a damp towel lay in a heap on the floor. It was all the evidence she found that he was ever there.

"He left," she said in quiet dismay. He promised to stay with her the rest of the day, but apparently he changed his mind. Or maybe he was only humoring her when he said it. It wasn't like they had some kind of relationship or anything. They spent a few enjoyable hours together and that was that. No reason to expect anything more.

Riley stared at the empty shower stall, then took off her shirt and stepped in, drawing the frosted glass shower door closed. There was still plenty of hot water left, thank goodness. As she scrubbed the reminders of this morning's activities from her skin, her thoughts stubbornly refused to keep silent.

_He didn't even say goodbye. Didn't leave a note or anything._ It wouldn't have had to be anything romantic. It didn't even have to say that he cared. It could've been as simple as: _So long. It's been fun_, and she would've felt at least a little better about being treated like a disposable plaything.

Her eyes stung. Riley angrily thrust her head beneath the stream of water. "Quit being such a girl," she berated herself. Her hands wandered down to her crotch, fingers probing tender flesh. She heard somewhere that even during consensual sex a woman's vaginal area sustained heavy bruising. Considering how sore everything was down there, she could definitely believe it. Yet despite the pain, which wasn't that serious, Riley experienced a flush of arousal at her own touch and the memory of what she and Guerrero had done. She briefly considered masturbation, but decided against it. At least if she was frustrated she wouldn't feel the need to cry over his absence. She turned off the water, got out of the shower, and grabbed a clean towel from the rack to pat herself dry. Her short hair dripped onto her shoulders as she wrapped the towel around herself and stepped into the bedroom. At that moment the sound of the front door opening reached her ears. Riley froze. Her heart stuttered in her chest. "Guerrero?" she called quietly.

"Yeah?"

She ran into the living room just as Guerrero kicked the door shut behind him. In one hand he supported a large pizza box, while in the other dangled a plastic shopping bag. He grinned at the sight of her clad only in a bath towel. "Hey, dude." From the way he ogled her, it was clear the "dude" was uttered purely from habit. Then his gaze wandered up to her face as his expression sobered. "What's wrong?"

It never occurred to Riley to say "nothing" and spare him any sense of guilt. Her sometimes blithe candor got her into trouble more than once throughout her life. It was one of the reasons she avoided most social situations; too many unspoken rules of etiquette she just didn't get. Riley swallowed and answered, "I didn't think you were coming back."

Guerrero was surprised, not by her mistaken idea so much as the guilt he felt at her obvious hurt. He wasn't accustomed to feeling guilty about anything. It was a liability in his world.

"I didn't wanna wake you," he told her. It was the closest to an apology he was willing to give.

Riley smiled. "It's okay. I was being silly." She bit her lip and awkwardly tried to change the subject. "Um, what kinda pizza's that?"

Guerrero hefted the box. "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I ordered plain old pepperoni. Hungry?"

Her stomach answered for her in the form of a loud snarl. She and Guerrero both laughed.

"That sounded like a definite yes." He carried the pizza over to the coffee table and set the grocery bag down beside it. He reached inside the bag, pulled out a two liter bottle of Pepsi. "Got any clean glasses?"

"Yeah, in the kitchen."

Guerrero headed for the kitchen only to find his way blocked by Riley. Clutching her towel with one hand, she hooked her other arm around his neck and pulled him towards her. A boldness she hadn't shown that morning. Guerrero found that he liked it. His arms slid around her as their lips met. Tongue snaked against tongue, not so much fighting for dominance as tangling in a wet embrace. Guerrero's hands slid down the terrycloth to grip her ass cheeks and crush her pelvis against his. Riley moaned at the feel of his growing erection against her lower belly, all soreness forgotten. Then Guerrero's stomach growled and the moment ended in laughter.

"You'd better put something on or the pizza's gonna get cold," Guerrero warned, drawing back with a regretful look on his face.

Riley sighed. "Okay." As she turned away, she felt a playful smack against her bottom. She yelped, threw a mock-annoyed glare over her shoulder, then trotted off to the bedroom with a laugh. Guerrero watched her towel-clad body disappear through the door, then went to the kitchen to get a couple of glasses. Moments later Riley returned in a pink sweatshirt and jeans. Another baggy outfit, but Guerrero could tell from the way her breasts moved under the fabric that she wasn't wearing a bra, so if her clothes were supposed to dissuade him from lecherous thoughts they failed miserably.

He was thrilled to see that Riley possessed a hearty appetite. He sat beside her on the couch (which was indeed too hard to sleep on) and watched her devour two big slices in no time and was working on her third before she started to slow down. She blushed at his attention to her eating habits. "I'm obviously not much of a salad girl," she said, lifting her shirt just enough to pinch a roll of fat at her midsection.

Guerrero smiled. Truth be told, he liked the extra padding on her. Oftentimes when he was with one of those Barbie doll impersonators it felt like he was fucking a pile of jagged twigs, expecting to hear bones snap at some point and surprised when they didn't.

Riley set the rest of her slice aside and wiped her mouth with a paper towel. Her eyes lowered in a sudden bout of shyness and she rubbed her denim-covered knees. Abruptly, she started to giggle, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

"What?" Guerrero asked, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

Riley lowered her hand. "I was gonna say something really lame."

"And what would that be?"

"I was gonna ask if you're ready for dessert." She doubled over, both hands now clamped over her mouth. Guerrero laughed as well, and marveled at how easily she brought that out of him. It took a moment for them both to calm down. Riley's eyes met his, her hands still covering her mouth. Guerrero took hold of her wrists and gently pulled them away, then leaned forward to capture her lips with his. Riley seemed to melt against him as the kiss quickly deepened until all they could hear was their heavy breathing and tasted pizza on each other's tongues. Guerrero also tasted the distinctive flavor of Riley's saliva. If pressed, he might have described it as a _clean_ taste. It was hard to pin down. All he knew was that he enjoyed it greatly, that clean Riley taste. He'd never particularly favored kissing before, but with this woman he was rapidly becoming an enthusiast.

Riley leaned back until her head lay against the couch's armrest, her mouth parting from Guerrero's just long enough for him to remove her shirt and his glasses. The shirt wound up on the floor, the glasses more carefully placed on the coffee table. Then it was back to the kissing. Riley made a low sound in her throat as she felt his weight settle on her. Guerrero's hands roamed over her bare skin until they reached her breasts. He caressed her soft mounds, then rolled her hardened nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. Riley gasped, breaking contact between her lips and his. Guerrero raised his head just enough to stare into her dark eyes.

"You're an incredible woman, Riley," he said huskily, "You don't even realize just how sexy you are."

"I'm n-not … " she tried to protest, but it was so hard to form a coherent thought with Guerrero's hands working their magic on her breasts. And now he started to leave a trail of kisses down the length of her neck. Riley tilted her head back on the armrest to give him better access.

"Yes you are," he said between kisses. "And I'm gonna show you," he paused to lave his tongue over the dip at the base of her throat, "how much you turn me on." He continued down into the valley between her breasts. Her skin smelled of Ivory soap mingled with her natural musk. His hands squeezed her breasts almost painfully as he licked and kissed his way down her slightly pooched stomach. He paused to delve his tongue into her belly button, causing her to squirm beneath him.

"Tickles," she giggled. Guerrero grinned and did it again, making her squeak in protest. He nipped playfully at her belly, then continued down until he reached the top of her jeans. Riley made an unhappy sound as he removed his hands from her breasts to undo the top button. "Easy, baby," he unzipped her fly, "Gimme a second and I promise I'll make you feel real good."

Riley already felt more pleasure than she ever thought possible. She thought that morning was intense, but now that Guerrero was taking his time, Riley could experience each sensation with an enjoyment that bordered on agony. Her flushed skin was feverish and sensitive to the lightest touch. She felt as if she were burning alive.

Guerrero began to pull her jeans down. Riley was hardly aware of raising her hips so the jeans could slip off more easily, followed by her panties. They joined her discarded sweatshirt on the floor. Guerrero ran his hands over the skin of her inner thighs, reveling in their softness. Riley's legs began to spread, the left one slipping off the couch. Guerrero caught it up and hooked the knee over his shoulder. Riley cracked her eyes open in time to see his head descend and then felt his tongue glide up the length of her slit. Riley's entire body shivered.

"So sweet," Guerrero murmured. He carefully parted her folds with his thumbs and found her wet and glistening. The scent of it made him groan and his erection strain against the confines of his jeans. He began to lap up her juices, his questing tongue sliding into her tight opening. Riley's cries rose in pitch as his tongue thrust in and out of her. He then withdrew it and blew gently into her womanhood, earning him an even louder cry. Then he turned his attention to that hard little nub and Riley's last shred of rational thought evaporated. Her back arched up from the couch. The muscles of her legs spasmed, and only Guerrero's hard grip on her thighs kept them from wrapping around his head. Riley clawed at the couch's fabric as animal sounds erupted from her throat. Her climax struck with a suddenness that stole the air from her lungs. Her body tensed, her eyes rolled back in her head, and then she shuddered and went limp.

"Oh, my god," she croaked. Hardly original, but her brain was only just starting to function again.

Guerrero slowly crept up the length of her body until his face hovered over hers. Riley reached up, cupped his face in her hands, and brought him down into a kiss. She tasted herself on his lips, which gave her a strange kind of satisfaction. As the kiss ended her hands wandered down to the collar of his shirt. She pouted. Guerrero smirked and got up from the couch. Riley watched intently as he shed his clothing. Their morning romp had been too intense for her to really take in all the details of his body. She found herself liking what she saw. While not a large man, Guerrero was very fit. Trim and muscular. The scars told her why this was so. They spoke of a life filled with conflict, a grim world where a man of slight build could easily be seen as a victim. One particular scar across his belly drew Riley's attention. Long and jagged, it looked as if someone had tried to disembowel him with a broken bottle. Guerrero moved his hands to block it from her view. Most of his scars were inconsequential, just part of the many hazards of his job. But this one was different. It carried the reminder of a time he wished with all his heart he could forget. He hated this scar.

Riley saw the bad memories in the hard set of his face. It saddened her. She slid off the couch onto her knees before him. She took his hands in hers and pulled them away from the scar. Guerrero wondered why he didn't resist. Then Riley put her arms around his waist and started to kiss his scar, following its ragged trail across his stomach. Guerrero's breath hitched in surprise. "What're you doing?"

She paused to look up at him, a faint smile curving her mouth. "I want you to think of me when you look at it."

It was a rare moment when Guerrero found himself at a loss for words. Even if he knew what to say, he wasn't sure he'd be able to say it as a strange tightness rose in his throat. Riley started kissing his scar again; sweet, open-mouthed kisses, as if the damaged flesh was the most beautiful part of him. Guerrero looked away from her and let out an unsteady breath. His nearsighted vision seemed to blur even more. He didn't want to think about what this meant, these emotions Riley's kindness stirred in him. He didn't want to believe anyone, let alone a woman he'd only known for a day, could affect him so strongly.

Riley felt him run his fingers through her mouse-brown hair. She rested her cheek against his belly and tightened her arms around him. There were things she didn't want to think about as well; she didn't want to dwell on the fact that Guerrero would be gone tomorrow, most likely out of her life forever. It didn't seem fair to meet a man who could awaken such powerful emotions in her only to lose him in the span of twenty-four hours. Already she could feel the loneliness creeping in.

Guerrero abruptly freed himself from her embrace and lowered himself to his knees, putting himself at her level. Their arms went around each other as their mouths joined in a deep kiss. Slowly, gently, Guerrero lowered Riley onto the hardwood floor. As he pushed his knee between her legs Riley protested, "We can't."

Guerrero straightened, found the plastic grocery bag still on the table, and pulled out the last item it contained; a three-pack of condoms. The way Riley's face lit up, he might as well have offered a dozen roses. She took the box from him and dug out a condom, peeling away its wrapper. Guerrero let her put it on him, then guide him to her waiting entrance. He moved in and out of her in slow thrusts, wanting to prolong the experience this time. Neither of them spoke. They stared into each other's eyes and listened to their heavy breathing. Gradually, their movements quickened. Small whimpers escaped from Riley. She wrapped her legs around Guerrero's waist and dug her fingers into his back. Guerrero's breathing became more ragged as his thrusts grew more urgent. He came with a loud groan, still thrusting the whole time until he felt Riley's walls tighten around him and heard her cry out. Instead of letting himself collapse on top of her, he lowered his head until their foreheads touched for a brief instant. Then he withdrew himself from her warmth and got to his feet, pulling off the used condom. Riley rose shakily and watched him leave to dispose of the condom. When he returned, she rushed forward and hugged him, her face buried against his shoulder.

"I don't want you to go," she said, regretting her words despite the fact that they were true. She knew he couldn't stay with her and understood the reasons even before he said anything.

Guerrero put his arms around her. "It's better if I do. Safer. For both of us."

"I know." She believed everything he said to her. She trusted him.

So why didn't he lie to her? Why not tell her that he didn't _want_ to stay with her? He made himself vulnerable this way. This woman was far more dangerous for the way she made him feel about her. _I never should've come back_, he thought. Yet he could not bring himself to regret being with her now.

Riley pulled away from him, swiping her hand across her eyes, then bent to pick up the box of condoms in one hand and the pizza box in the other. "Come on," she said, heading for the bedroom with a determined stride, "We're gonna spend the rest of the day in bed."

Guerrero smiled. "I like this plan," he said, though with an uncharacteristic softness in his tone. He followed her into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.


	4. Nightfall

**A/N:** Okay, I have a small confession to make. No point in denying it, Riley _is_ somewhat Mary Sue. Sorry, but it was just too darn tempting. I get that a lot of people don't approve of that sort of thing, and that's cool. Myself, I don't see what's so bad about a little vicariousness. I don't mind if a character I'm reading is Mary Sue so long as the story itself isn't crap. But then again, I also like _Howard the Duck_. Anyway, I'm having fun writing this, so I'm gonna keep going. Happy reading! (Or not.) Oh, and thanks for the reviews ;-D

**Disclaimer: _Human Target_ ain't mine. Ask anyone!**

Guerrero was relieved to see Riley's mood improve rather quickly. Whether it was genuine or not, he didn't try too hard to figure out. He was just glad things would be ending on a high note.

They finished off the pizza and soon needed another condom. Riley joked that by tomorrow she'd be swaggering like a cowboy from an old western, to which an inspired Guerrero whistled the first few notes to the theme song for _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_, making them both laugh.

A comfortable silence settled between them. Riley lay with her head pillowed against Guerrero's shoulder as the two of them dozed. The quality of light outside the window gradually changed from burnt yellow-orange to faded silvery-blue. The old-fashioned alarm clock on the nightstand—the kind featured in movies and cartoons with the two brass bells set on top like a pair of mouse ears—ticked away the minutes. Riley's fingers toyed absently with Guerrero's chest hair as she roused a little from her doze. Her thumb brushed against a scar near his collarbone, a small circular patch she suspected was originally a bullet wound. She cracked her eyes open and stared at the pale lines and deep gashes that mottled his skin. Her gaze traveled upwards until she reached his face. Guerrero was awake, watching her watch him.

"You get all these from your work?" she asked.

Guerrero brushed a hand down his front as if wiping away a few crumbs. "Most of 'em I got when I was starting out. Before I figured out the right way."

"And what's the right way?"

He smiled and his face transformed into something sinister. "Track them to their homes where they feel safest, kill 'em in their sleep. Or if a client wants the target to see it coming, find the thing they love most and use it to take the fight outta them."

Riley felt a chill at his words and burrowed deeper under the blankets until only her head remained exposed. Part of her wanted to drop the subject, but there was also a morbid curiosity that compelled her to keep asking questions.

"Did you enjoy killing them?"

Guerrero, apparently oblivious to her discomfort, shrugged. "Just like any other job, I guess. Sometimes it's fun, sometimes it isn't." He made it sound almost normal. "I don't just carry out hits, though," he continued, "Sometimes clients only want someone killed politically. You'd be amazed how easy people make it to hack into their computers. They use the most obvious passwords you could imagine: spouses' names, pets' names, their kids' birthdays. One guy actually used his own name spelled backwards." He snorted. "Took me, like, two seconds to figure that one out. Dude was seriously in love with himself."

Riley made a mental note to change her PIN number. "So, what're you gonna do now that you quit?"

He turned onto his side to face her, propped up on his elbow. "Guess I'll try going freelance for a while. I always liked the info gathering stuff more than snuffing people. Any idiot can cap a guy in his sleep or rig a car to explode, but tracking down the source of a hacker's signal or weeding out embezzlement scams from legitimate business transactions? That takes talent." He tapped the side of his head with his finger.

Riley couldn't help but grin at his boast. "Plus you get to piss off a lot of people in the process," she pointed out.

"One of the perks, dude," Guerrero replied smugly.

Riley laughed. Then her eyes wandered down to the scar on his stomach, its irregular edge peeking from under the covers. Guerrero noticed the focus of her gaze and pulled the blanket further up. It was a casual gesture, calculated to seem like he didn't care one way or the other if she looked at the scar. He could see the question lurking behind Riley's eyes, wondering why that particular scar bothered him more than the others, but she left it unvoiced.

Guerrero rolled onto his back and gazed up at the ceiling. He could still feel Riley's eyes on him. _She can stare all she wants_, he thought stubbornly, _I'm not gonna tell her anything._ A few minutes passed before he shot a quick glance at her from the corner of his eye. He frowned, took a longer look. Riley wasn't staring at him; her eyes were closed. Not dozing yet, but he could tell from her slowing breaths that she was working up to it. Guerrero turned his eyes ceilingward again and heaved a resigned sigh. "I got it in prison."

Riley's eyes opened in a series of groggy blinks. "Huh?"

He pulled the blanket down just enough for her to see it. "This scar. I got it in prison." _And that's all I'm going to say about it_, his tone implied.

Riley wondered if she should say something, then thought better of it. Anything she said would probably just sour the mood between them. Better to let it lie. Wait until the strained silence between them passed. Still, she found herself trying to imagine the circumstances that led to such an injury. It was old, so Guerrero was probably a much younger man at the time. Perhaps he was just getting started in his illicit career. Like most people, Riley knew the horror stories of prison life: gangs, rapes, corrupt and abusive guards. A man of Guerrero's slight build would no doubt have been seen as an easy target. And with his strong opinions and independent nature, he probably made enemies more easily than he did allies.

Guerrero suddenly spoke, voice barely above a whisper, "I hated prison. The day I got out I swore to Christ I wasn't ever going back. Not even for an instant."

Riley slid closer to him. She kissed his shoulder just above a patch of tissue that looked like the remnants of a burn. Guerrero let out a long exhale through his nose, then turned towards her. "Your turn."

She frowned. "For what?"

"Well, I just shared something pretty damn personal. Only seems fair that you reciprocate."

"Like what?" Riley asked.

"I dunno." He shifted to his side and propped his head up with his hand. "How 'bout you tell me how old were you when you lost your virginity?"

Her eyes widened a little. "What! That's private!"

He smirked. "You do realize we're both naked right now. I think we pretty much eliminated the concept of privacy."

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Riley sighed in resignation. "I lost it two years ago, when I was thirty-four."

Guerrero's eyebrows rose. That certainly explained her inexperience. "Somebody special?"

"No," she groaned into her pillow, blush spreading to her ears, "He was a magazine salesman. He just knocked on my door one day and the next thing I knew I had a one night stand with the guy and a subscription to _Reader's Digest_."

Guerrero didn't say anything. He was too busy laughing.

Riley rolled her eyes. "'Kay, then. How old were _you_ your first time?"

Guerrero settled down enough to answer flippantly, "Thirteen."

"Thirteen!"

"Yep." He grinned at Riley's gobsmacked expression.

"Thirteen," she repeated in a dazed voice, "You and a girl had sex when you were barely out of grammar school?"

"No, _I _had sex barely out of grammar school," he corrected, "She was twenty something."

Now it looked as if her jaw had come unhinged. "You can't be serious!"

"I'm totally serious, dude. I had this part time job after school at this little mom 'n' pop store. Me and this older chick did pretty much everything except work the register. Guess the owners didn't trust us to handle the cash for some reason." He smirked. "Anyway, I caught the older chick smoking a joint in the storage closet and threatened to tell the boss unless she fucked me."

Riley's face was a strange mixture of shock, disgust, intrigue, and a faint trace of amusement. "You're unbelievable."

"I know," Guerrero replied modestly.

She shook her head. "Blackmail."

"Hey, she was hot! Besides, if people behaved themselves, or at least took better precautions against getting caught, they wouldn't have anything to be blackmailed for," Guerrero pointed out quite reasonably. "Husbands cheat on wives, wives cheat on husbands. The greedy skim from company profits, and the perverted download underage porn. It's human nature to do stupid things they'd rather not have other people know about."

"I've never done anything I felt the need to hide."

"Except sleep with a magazine salesman," Guerrero grinned. Riley laughed in spite of herself. Then her eyes wandered over to the window and her expression sobered. Outside there was only darkness. She looked at Guerrero. He reached out to stroke her hair. "Want me to stay 'til morning?"

She bit her lip. "No. I think it'd be better if you left while I was asleep. Make it seem more like, I dunno, a fairytale or something." She lowered her eyes. "Think that's silly?"

"Yeah."

She snorted, amused by his blunt response.

Guerrero leaned in to kiss her, his hand tangled in her hair. "Y'know, we still got one more condom left. Be a shame to let it go to waste."

Riley didn't say anything, just grinned and pushed him flat on his back. She kissed her way down his chest, pausing to suck on his right nipple, her thumb flicking against the other. Guerrero's breathing grew heavier. Riley could feel his pulse against her lips. She continued kissing downward. When she reached the scar on his stomach, she ran her tongue along its length. Guerrero shuddered, and she looked up at him, wondering if what she did bothered him.

"The hell're you stopping for?" he growled.

Riley grinned and bit down on the skin just below his navel, hard enough to leave toothmarks. Guerrero let out a loud moan. Riley worked her way still lower, pulling back the covers as she did so, until she encountered his erection jutting upwards like a pole. She hesitated. "Um, I'm not sure how good I'll be at this."

"Never know 'til you try," he grinned, gently nudging her head.

Riley smiled and wrapped her hand around him. The flesh was hot and smooth. She stroked up and down his length, pleased by the low groan she heard. She lightly kissed the tip, then slowly drew the head into her mouth.

"Oh, shit," Guerrero grunted, eyes squeezed shut, jaws clenched. The muscles of his body tensed as Riley began to experiment, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock, flicking it against the slit at the tip. Her teeth just barely grazed his skin, causing him to shiver convulsively. Her hand glided along the length of his shaft while her mouth continued to work the head. Guerrero's hips suddenly thrust upwards, forcing himself deeper into her mouth. She gagged in surprise. Guerrero froze. "You okay?"

He was still inside her mouth. She breathed out, "Uh-huh," and Guerrero moaned in response. She started to continue where she left off, but Guerrero took hold of her head and pulled her away. "Stop."

She looked at him in concern. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Just the opposite," he smiled, "Keep it up and I'll be done before we've even started."

"Well," she moved to straddle him, "we certainly don't want that."

Their mouths connected. Guerrero tasted that clean Riley taste with a faint undercurrent of something he realized was himself on her tongue. She ground herself against him and he felt the heat and wetness of her on his erection. He quickly reached for the nightstand and fumbled blindly for the little box with the last condom in it. His fingertips grazed the edge of the box and he stretched to hook his fingers over it, dragging it across the nightstand towards him. Without breaking the kiss, Riley took the box from him and extracted the condom. She tore away the wrapper, then slowly unrolled the condom down the length of his penis. Once it was on, Guerrero took hold of Riley's hips and guided her over his erection. She steadied it in her hand as Guerrero slowly lowered her onto him. He could feel the heat of her engulf him even through the latex barrier. Riley gripped his shoulders as she began to move up and down. Guerrero broke away from her lips to kiss his way down the side of her neck. Riley tilted her head back, soft moans escaping from her parted lips. Guerrero reached her collarbone, nipping and licking her skin. His hands wandered up from her hips to cup her breasts. He kneaded them in time to her thrusts, thumbs circling her hard nipples. Then he squeezed them together and brought his mouth to them. He alternated between her two jutting nipples, licking, sucking, biting gently. The sounds emerging from Riley's mouth grew louder as her pace started to quicken. Her pleasure rose despite the ache between her legs and the protesting muscles in her thighs. Guerrero's hands left her breasts to cup the cheeks of her ass. His mouth continued to pleasure her breasts while his hands guided her movements, thrusting her hard against him. Riley's hands tangled themselves in his hair. Her voice rose higher, louder, her hips moving more rapidly. She could feel the tingle building in her core, spreading outwards to her limbs, her fingers and toes. She was nearly there, she was so close. Then Guerrero slid one of his hands away from her ass around to her front, slipping between their bodies until he reached the place where they joined. A questing fingertip found the pearl-sized bundle of nerves. One flick was all it took to send Riley tumbling over the edge. She screamed, her entire body tensed. She was dimly aware of Guerrero crying out as he too climaxed. Then all the energy drained from them and they collapsed against the bed, limp and sated.

A few minutes later, while Guerrero disposed of the condom, Riley set her alarm clock for the morning. Tomorrow was Monday, the start of another work week. It was a surreal concept for her, going back to her ordinary job and her ordinary life after all she's experienced these last twenty-four hours. The feeling would fade over time, she knew. Once Guerrero left, things would settle back to the way they always were. Riley knew she could be content with that, so long as she didn't forget any of this.

Behind her the mattress dipped as Guerrero returned to the bed. His arm slid around her waist and their bodies spooned together. Riley's eyelids were growing heavy. Once she slept she would not wake until morning, and by then Guerrero would be gone. She felt a tightness in her throat at the realization, but resolved not to repeat her mistake and make him deal with her emotional behavior. She wouldn't even say goodbye to him. He would vanish from her life as if he were a dream. Without a word, Riley's arm stretched out to switch off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.


	5. Brothers

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter's kinda short. I promise to make the next one go on a bit longer.

**Disclaimer: I'll never make any money from this, and I have no money to take, so please don't sue me. _Human Target_ is not mine.**

Guerrero woke well before dawn. Beside him, Riley lay in a huddle under the covers, the sounds of her heavy breathing and the rhythmic ticking of the alarm clock the only sounds in the room. Guerrero slipped out from beneath the covers, careful not to wake her, and quietly left the bedroom. With the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the windows his only illumination, he gathered up his clothes from the living room and got dressed. He found his glasses on the coffee table where he'd left them and put them on. They were little help in the dark. Clutching his shoes in one hand, he glanced at the bedroom door, wondering if he should make some gesture of farewell. Nothing sprang to mind. He'd probably only wake her anyway, and Riley made it clear she didn't want to see him leave. So instead he mentally wished her a good life and left the apartment. Out in the hall, he put on his shoes and headed down the stairs. The entire building was eerily still as the tenants slept. The faint creaks from the aging steps seemed magnified in the silence. Guerrero reached the front door and stepped out into the night.

The air outside was cold enough for his breath to fog. There was a little more activity than there was inside; passing cars, distant sirens, the occasional bark from a stray dog. Guerrero shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and headed for the curb where he'd left his car parked. Behind him, a dark figure detached itself from the shadow of the apartment building.

"Oy, dude."

Guerrero didn't freeze. His posture remained relaxed as he slowed and casually turned to face the man who greeted him. "Hey, mate."

Baptiste drew nearer until he stood within the circle of light cast by a nearby streetlight. Like Guerrero, his hands were tucked into his pockets, his posture casual. "I've been waiting for you to come out," he said, "I followed you and that Plain Jane you hooked up with at the pub. Figured you'd be out in just a few hours, as usual. Imagine my surprise when you shacked up with her the entire day."

Maybe it was the accent, but every time Baptiste spoke Guerrero thought it sounded like he was reciting lines from some tragic play. Baptiste always had a flair for drama, which was probably one of the reasons contract killing suited him so well.

"I had a lotta steam to work off, dude," Guerrero replied. "So why the tail? The Old Man send you to drag me back?"

"Hardly," Baptiste grinned somberly, "He wasn't pleased by your sudden departure, to be sure, but he's still far too preoccupied over Junior's betrayal to concern himself with you. No, I'm here to satisfy my own curiosity."

"About what?"

Instead of answering, the hit man indicated the apartment building with a tilt of his head. "So who is the little tart, mate? She the reason you decided to leave?"

Guerrero made a dismissive sound. "Just something to take the edge off. I got all I wanted from her."

"Then you won't mind if I have a go at her."

"Knock yourself out, dude." Nothing in his posture or his voice revealed anything more than indifference.

A slow smile played over Baptiste's dark features. "That's good. I was worried for a moment that Junior's breakdown might have become contagious. But that's not why you left us, is it?"

"I left because things were getting too intense," Guerrero said, taking a hand out of his pocket to wave for emphasis, "Junior flippin' out, the Old Man losing it, and _you're _hanging on by a thread, dude. Figured I'd better get out before the shit really hit the fan."

"That's not why," Baptiste retorted.

Guerrero smirked. "Really? Care to enlighten me?"

Baptiste shook his head, his expression pitying. "Poor Guerrero. Always the neglected middle child. The Old Man focused so much of his attention on Junior and me, there just wasn't enough left for you. I'm sure you thought once Junior was gone that might change, but it hasn't, has it? Even now the Old Man won't even spare a glance at you."

"Wow," Guerrero drawled, "That's, like, incredibly insightful of you, Doctor Phil. You oughta write a book, start a call-in show. Share your pithy wisdom with the world."

"Tell me you weren't disappointed when I told you the Old Man didn't send me," Baptiste challenged.

"That whole 'we're family' thing was always bullshit," Guerrero stated coolly, "You and Junior might've deluded yourselves into believing it, but I never did. That's the advantage of stayin' on the outside; never have to deal with disillusionment." He turned away and resumed walking.

"Keep telling yourself that, mate," Baptiste called after him, "We both know you being on the outside was never your choice. You're fooling yourself every bit as much as Junior is, and you can't even see it."

"Take care of yourself, dude," Guerrero said over his shoulder, his tone unconcerned. He reached his parked car, unlocked it and got in, started the engine. As he pulled out of the parking space he glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Baptiste still silhouetted under the streetlight. Guerrero continued to eye the hit man's reflection as he merged into the sparse predawn traffic. Baptiste's image was almost swallowed by the distance when he finally left the streetlight's dim illumination, headed away from the apartment building. Only then did Guerrero look away from the mirror. He ignored how tightly his hands gripped the steering wheel.

The truth was, Baptiste's confrontation had left him shaken, both from the things he said as well as his unexpected arrival. Guerrero hated being caught off guard. Dammit, he should have seen him coming!

At least he managed to convince Baptiste to disregard Riley. No doubt he would still check on her from time to time to see if Guerrero returned. That alone was enough to convince him that he'd made the right decision to never see her again. It was safer for both of them. Besides, this way Riley would never have the chance to understand what kind of man Guerrero really was. Everyone who ever really got to know him was quick to sever ties. Everyone but Junior, that is. For some weird reason, Junior continued to be friends with him despite all he'd learned about Guerrero over the years. Maybe that was why his change of heart affected Guerrero as much as it did. Maybe that was why he couldn't bring himself to kill Junior when he should have.

He sighed, flexed his hands on the wheel to make them relax. Everything that'd happened lately was just one big sign telling him he should've left the organization years ago. He'd already been working for the Old Man longer than he had for anyone else. Guerrero was better off freelancing; far less drama all around.

Baptiste did get one thing right, though; Guerrero had never spent as much time with a woman as he had with Riley. He'd come to the conclusion years ago that forming attachments just weren't worth the trouble. Most of his reasons were selfish, naturally, but there was also the danger his lifestyle would pose towards anyone unfortunate enough to be close to him. Baptiste's appearance tonight proved that. Women were recreation and nothing more. A few hours' distraction from life's stresses. Guerrero didn't need or want anything more.

He imagined Riley sound asleep in her bed, unaware of the danger she'd narrowly avoided. She'd admitted to having an uneventful life, but at least with Guerrero out of the picture it would be a long one. She had a day off from her usual monotony and Guerrero got a reprieve from the recent turmoil of his own life. Best to enjoy the memories and leave it at that...

...But what neither of them knew was that memories weren't all Guerrero left with Riley. In the time they'd spent together, one of the condoms they used turned out to possess a tiny flaw, no bigger than a pinhole. It was almost nothing, but as Riley would discover some weeks later, it was enough.


	6. Choices

**A/N:** Here Guerrero's and Riley's stories diverge for a while. Also, just for the record, I already decided their kid would be a boy before the "Cool Hand Guerrero" episode revealed he had a son. ;-)

**Disclaimer: C'mon, we all know it ain't mine.**

_ONE MONTH_

It started off as the flu; at least, that's what she thought it was. But times passed and her symptoms didn't fade. Others arose, and Riley began to worry. Then she missed her period. Normally, this wouldn't worry her, as her cycles didn't run as predictably as some other women's. Sometimes she was as much as a week late. But with the other symptoms to go with her lateness...it was all too much of a coincidence for her to shrug off.

Her grocery store provided a distressing variety of home pregnancy tests. Which one was the most reliable? What if it gave a false result? She finally said to herself "the hell with it" and purchased one of each brand. At least that way there wouldn't be any room for doubt.

And indeed there wasn't. Hours later, after numerous drinks of water and trips to the bathroom, Riley sat on the lid of her toilet and stared at the array of tests arranged neatly across the bathroom counter. Blue sticks, pink strips, plus signs, colored lines, all proclaiming the same result in their own language: Positive.

A detached part of her mind was somewhat fascinated by the intensity of her panic. She couldn't even bring herself to move or make a sound; just sat and stared with a blank expression while shards of ice stabbed her in the gut. She didn't want this. Not this way or any other. Riley had long ago decided that, while she had nothing at all against them, children just weren't for her. She used to be on the pill, but with her success in dating practically nil, her judgment lapsed and she stopped taking them. Then, like an idiot, she spent her weekend having sex and got herself knocked up.

_Oh god!_ The emotional spike rose. Guerrero! He had no idea about this, and Riley had no way to tell him. This wholly unplanned fetus (she shied away from the word "baby") was half his. He should have a say in what would happen to it. Riley shouldn't have to deal with this alone.

Riley drew her knees up and wrapped her arms tightly around them, rocking slightly on her precarious toilet-seat perch. _What do I do?_

As if his ghost was listening, her father's voice rose in her thoughts: _Start by pulling yourself together._ It's what he always said whenever Riley found herself in a panic over some new dilemma, usually followed by: _Take a breath, fix yourself some tea, and make a list._ To Dad, no problem couldn't be solved with a cup of Darjeeling and a notepad. So, after a couple of deep breaths, Riley got up, threw the spent pregnancy tests into the trash, then went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Moments later she sat down on her living room sofa with a steaming mug on the coffee table beside a pad of paper with the words _Dumb Things I Gotta Do_ emblazoned at the top of each page (Riley found the words more appropriate to the situation than the usual to-dos). She took a bracing sip from her yellow smiley-face mug, then picked up a pen and prepared to write. There were really only three options available to her in this situation.

**1) Abortion.** In many ways, this was the most difficult option, both personally and socially. Riley herself was pro-choice, but that didn't necessarily mean she was going to rush out and terminate the pregnancy. If, by some quirk of fate, she ever saw Guerrero again, would she be able to look him in the eye knowing that she'd ended his unborn child's life?

Even in the brief time they'd spent together, Riley could already guess Guerrero's opinion on the matter. He would want her to terminate. It was safer all around, for him, for Riley, and even for the child. Even so, Riley still couldn't bring herself to do it. So, on to the next option.

**2) Keep It.** This one was easier; Riley had no intention of _ever_ being a mother. If she did decide to raise the child out of a sense of obligation, she knew she'd feel resentment at being forced into the situation. It wouldn't be fair to either of them. Which left her with...

**3) Adoption.** If she did decide to carry to term, she owed it to the kid to see that he or she ended up with a good family. People who would be the parents Riley knew she could not be. This posed its own risks, namely the emotions that were bound to surface over time. Maternal instinct was a powerful thing; the species depended on it to flourish, after all. Regardless of what her _head_ thought was best, her _heart_ was bound to disagree. Question was, which would prove stronger?

It was then that Riley knew she'd made her decision. She carefully scratched out the first two options.

* * *

It wasn't long before Guerrero established himself as a freelancer. The work wasn't as steady as it'd been when he worked for the Old Man, nor was the pay quite as good. But he was still well into the black, with plenty of cash to do the things he enjoyed.

It was the time of day known to the movie industry as "magic hour." Those precious few minutes at sunset when the light took on an ethereal quality, giving even the grimiest parts of the city a beautiful glow. Guerrero let his car roll slowly down a particular street where women of almost every description displayed their wares; specifically, their bodies. Clad in micro-skirts and tight shorts, halter tops and tube tops, fishnets and thigh-high boots, stiletto heels and platforms. Their faces painted in garish colors, expressions bored and jaded. He perused them as one would the contents of a vending machine, in search of instant and shallow gratification. His vehicle finally coasted to a halt and he rolled down the passenger side window. A young girl—probably eighteen, likely younger—sauntered over and leaned in, hands resting on the door's top edge. Guerrero took a closer look at her. Skinny, but not quite emaciated. Dressed in form-fitting leopard-spotted pants and a black spaghetti halter top, and a variety of cheap bracelets and necklaces. A tiny handbag, also leopard-spotted, hung from one bony shoulder on a chain. Her long black hair hung down in stringy braids. Her pupils were enormous. What on the surface appeared to be apathy was really just drug-induced numbness. She mumbled around a mouthful of gum, "Hey, baby. Lookin' for a date?"

Guerrero shook his head. "Just a good fuck." Always one for the direct approach.

The girl's purple glossed lips curled in a smirk. "You'll get that, if you got the cash."

Guerrero raised his hand, showed her the folded bills held between two fingers. The girl's smirk expanded to a predatory grin. She opened the car door and climbed inside. "You got us a place?"

"No worries." He tucked the money into his coat's inner pocket. "Buckle up for safety."

The girl rolled her mascara-ed eyes. The car pulled away from the curb and tore down the street.

As hotels went, the place Guerrero chose was modest but clean; several leagues above the dumps that charged by the hour. Just because his company was trashy didn't mean the accommodations had to be.

The girl followed Guerrero into his room and took in her surroundings. She scrutinized the beige wallpaper and subpar wall hangings with a look of bored disinterest. She then turned to Guerrero and named a price for an hour.

Guerrero smirked. He doubted she was worth even a third of that amount. "I'll consider half that, and you leave as soon as we're done."

She popped her gum, a sound that always irritated the hell out of Guerrero. "C'mon, man," she whined, "I gotta pay for a cab outta here." She asked for a little less than her original quote. Guerrero reduced it by a third, his tone letting her know he wouldn't go any higher.

The girl blew a bubble, drew it back into her mouth and bit down. _Pop._ "Fine."

"And lose the fuckin' gum."

Whether prostitutes or women picked up at a club or bar, it made little difference. Had to pay for it either way, Guerrero figured. Only difference was that whores were up front about it. Lately he'd been sticking to prostitutes for one reason...well, two: there was less hassle involved, and they didn't expect him to kiss them. A couple of weeks ago, when Guerrero kissed a woman he hooked up with at some generic nightspot, he'd wound up completely turned off by the experience. She just didn't taste right to him. And then Guerrero started thinking about who _did_ taste right and his evening was pretty much ruined after that. It embarrassed him, this lingering feeling he couldn't name. Until that unpleasant incident he'd managed to successfully push Riley to the back of his mind. That part of him should let her continue to have even the smallest effect on him...something had to be wrong with him.

And so the trashy streetwalker.

"Alright, baby," she reached into her tiny purse, "If you want the love, you gotta wear the glove. Bareback costs extra."

Guerrero shuddered; as if he'd ever want to put his unprotected dick into her filthy hole. God knew what he'd catch from her. "I got my own." He retrieved the double-thickness condom from his back pocket.

As they undressed, the girl's spacy eyes were inevitably drawn to the scar across his stomach. "The fuck happened to you?"

"A waitress took issue with my not tipping her," he said drily.

She blinked. "No shit?"

Guerrero rolled his eyes. "Shut up and get on the bed."

There was little satisfaction in the deed beyond the most basic. Guerrero thought of it as a way of purging his system of the sense-memories of Riley. He focused intently on the creaks of the bedsprings, the sour tang of the girl's sweat, his guttural breathing. His orgasm was purely incidental.

Afterward, he lay on the bed and stared up at the cracked ceiling. The thin sheen of sweat on his body felt clammy in the room's cool air. He heard a loud sniff as the whore freshened up with the little vial she dug out of her purse. "Thought I told you to leave after we finished," he mumbled.

"Yeah, yeah," she griped, "I'm goin'." She hobbled over to the door in staggeringly tall heels the same shade of purple as her lipstick. "See ya 'round, baby." The door slammed behind her.

Guerrero lay in the dark hotel room and listened to the fading click-clop of the girl's retreating steps. Light from the hotel's neon sign shone through a gap in the curtains, painting irregular red and green lines across the bed just to the left of where he lay. His right hand was tucked behind his head, his left rested on his chest. After a few silent minutes passed his hand crept down until the fingers traced the edge of his belly scar. He remembered the sensation of the shank tearing into him, the horror of feeling his insides trying to spill out. The details were still so vivid: the grittiness of the floor beneath his cheek, the excited whoops and laughter. Him clutching the wound, desperate to hold his guts in, unable to defend himself from the fuckers who'd attacked him. What they did to him then...

It took months for Guerrero to recover in the prison's barely adequate hospital. Once he got out, there was a rash of freak accidents and suicides. Within days, all of his attackers were dead. None of the other inmates went near Guerrero after that.

But that wasn't the memory that troubled him now. He touched the ragged line of scar tissue and thought of Riley kissing it, smiling up at him and saying "I want you to think of me." Guerrero wasn't sure which was worse: the fact that he couldn't seem to forget about her, or that he didn't want to.

* * *

_FIVE MONTHS_

Working at a library proved advantageous in researching the various adoption agencies available. Riley decided on an open adoption. She wanted to meet the prospective parents to be sure they would do right by her unborn. (That was how she thought of it now: unborn. A good neutral word, not clinical like "fetus" or personal like "baby" or "child".) She also wanted the adoptive parents to live in a different state. The more distance she put between herself and her unborn, the easier it would be to let go. Otherwise, she might be tempted to reconnect, and that was something she wanted to avoid. It wouldn't be fair to the family, and it would only bring her pain.

The couple she finally chose was the Holdens, Nancy and Drew. They joked about their names when Riley met them, said they even had a couple of dogs they called the Hardy Boys, Frank and Joe. Drew and Nancy were a little younger than Riley, in their late twenties. Both medium build with brown hair. Drew owned a small but successful sporting goods business which he and Nancy both worked at, but Nancy planned to become a stay-at-home mom once they started a family. They were liberal-minded Christians, active in numerous social charities, and deeply devoted to each other. Riley liked them as people and felt they would make excellent parents. She talked to them over the phone several times a month, mainly to update them on the unborn's development. She also met them in person when they came to attend a couple of sonograms. They were especially keen to be there when the doctor could determine the unborn's gender.

It was strange watching them get all emotional over the blurry images. Nancy even cried at one point. Even though Riley was the one who's stomach was covered in goo and having some weird hand-held device scanning her womb, she felt more like a spectator to the Holdens' personal event. She didn't experience any sort of emotional connection to the wiggly thing depicted on the screen, which really came as a relief.

In some ways the hardest part about the pregnancy was being on her own. Riley must have gone back to that same bar where she'd met Guerrero a hundred times, hoping to catch a glimpse of him even though she knew it wouldn't happen. Guerrero would never know that he was a father. Maybe it wouldn't matter to him, maybe he would just wish her luck and leave her to deal with it herself, but at least then he would _know_ and that meant something to Riley.

So here she was, five months pregnant and seated at a little two-person table at the noisy bar, a diet soda in her hand, scanning the crowd around her for one particular face. The ice in her drink had mostly melted, diluting the soda, but she hardly noticed. Riley was so caught up in her fruitless search she didn't even notice the man's approach until he bumped into her hand and sent her drink splashing across the floor. "Shit!" Riley exclaimed, startled rather than mad.

"Ooh! Sorry, luv. Should've watched where I was going."

Riley was immediately taken with the guy's accent. He was a middle-aged black man with close-cropped hair, a goatee, and the darkest, solemnest eyes she'd ever seen.

"It's okay," she said as a waitress hurried over to mop up the spill.

The Englishman smiled, a flash of white against his dark skin. "Please, let me buy you another to make up for my clumsiness."

"Um, okay."

While the waitress hurried off to get a refill, the man stood next to the empty chair across from Riley. "May I?"

She shrugged. "Free country."

The man sat and placed his drink on the table, a bottle of Riley's Red Ale. Riley grinned.

"Well," the man said, "Since I'm buying you a drink I may as well introduce myself." He held out his hand. "Aaron Poole."

"I'm Riley." She pointed to the beer's label before shaking his hand. Aaron's grip was firm, his palm warm and dry.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Riley." Another dazzling smile. "So," he said conversationally, "you meeting your husband here, then?"

"N-no." Riley felt a blush coming on. She blamed the hormones. And his accent. She was one of those Americans who thought everything sounded sexy with an English accent.

"Forgive me for prying," he said kindly, "You seemed to be looking around so intently, and I noticed your condition and figured..." He gave an eloquent shrug.

"I can see how you'd think that. But no, I'm not married." Her new soda arrived. Riley swirled the straw around, listening to the tinkle of crushed ice. "I was just looking for somebody I met here one time. It was a long shot I'd see him again."

Aaron nodded sympathetically. "When's the little one due, if you don't mind my asking?"

"In about four months." She took a long sip of her drink.

Aaron smiled. "My wife's expecting in just over three months. We decided to wait until the child's born before we find out whether it's a boy or a girl. You?"

"Boy," Riley patted her bulging stomach, "The parents wanted to know."

"Oh, so you're a surrogate?"

She hesitated for half a second. "Yeah."

"That's wonderful," he said warmly, "It takes a very generous woman to do that, grant a hopeful couple their wish for a child."

Riley, uncomfortable with her white lie, took another hefty swig from her drink rather than try to formulate a response. She covered her mouth to suppress a burp. "Well, thanks for the soda. I gotta be going."

Aaron quickly rose to help her stand. Even though she didn't need it, Riley appreciated the gesture. "Thank you. It was nice meeting you, Aaron."

"The pleasure was entirely mine, Riley." He shook her hand again, and for a second Riley wondered if he was going to kiss it like some medieval knight. _Get a grip_, she admonished herself, blushing as she shuffled for the door.

Baptiste's smile faded as he watched her leave, replaced with a look of cold speculation.

* * *

Chance was relieved to find his client safe in the isolated lake cabin. The place belonged to her uncle, which meant it was only a matter of time before the people trying to kill her would come looking. It was mainly luck that he got there first.

"Lynn? My name's Christopher Chance. Your uncle hired me to protect you."

It was obvious she had no experience with paranoia; she believed him right away.

"Thank god!" she said, lowering the fireplace poker she'd been brandishing, "When I heard you come in I was afraid—"

"Shh!" Chance held up a silencing hand as he turned towards the front door, brow creased in a dark frown. Lynn warily lifted the poker again. Then she heard it: footsteps. Someone else was coming!

Chance pulled a gun from his belt and aimed it at the door as it slowly creaked open. A short, lanky man stood in the door frame, hands loose at his sides.

"Hey, dude," Guerrero said, ignoring the fact that his former comrade once again held a gun on him.

Chance couldn't quite hide his surprise. The scenario was creepily familiar. Late at night, isolated cabin, young woman with a target painted on her. But he kept his voice and his aim steady. "Hey, man. Been a while. You the guy they sent to keep Lynn quiet?"

"You know this creep?" Lynn exclaimed, still clutching the poker.

"Dude!" Guerrero said to her, feigning hurt, "You don't even know me."

"But I do," Chance retorted.

Guerrero sized him up. "So you decided to turn pro with this hero shit, huh?" he asked conversationally, "How's the career change workin' out so far?"

"Fantastic. How's the Old Man?"

"Beats me. I lit out of there months ago."

Chance's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You quit?"

"Yep. I'm my own boss now. Offering my considerable services to the highest bidder."

"Which includes multi-national conglomerations out to silence a key witness to their illegal shenanigans."

"Sometimes," Guerrero conceded, "But not in this case, bro. I'm actually here with a business proposal."

"Is he serious?" Lynn said.

"Hardly ever," Chance answered, "But I gotta admit I'm intrigued. What're you up to, Guerrero?"

Guerrero, sensing that the tension had eased a little, slouched over to the nearest chair—a kitschy piece of furniture constructed from knotted pine and deer antlers—and sat down. "I'm guessin' your plan to save the chick involves busting into her old boss's headquarters to dig up the incriminating info that got her into trouble in the first place, right?"

"Maybe." Chance slowly lowered the gun. If Guerrero had intended to fight, he would've made his move by now. He still kept the gun in hand, though, just in case. "What's your proposal?"

"Dude, I can totally get you in there without setting off any of the alarms. I got hold of the schematics for all the recent upgrades in their security system, _and_ I got a friend on the security force who's willing to sell all the details on how many guards there are and where they'll be at any given time."

"All for a modest fee, naturally," Chance smirked.

Guerrero shrugged. "Gotta pay the bills, bro."

"Um," Lynn spoke up nervously, "Can we trust this guy?"

Chance stared at the smaller man for a long beat. He put his gun away. "He's got his own set of ethics. Once he's hired to do something, he'll see it through."

"That a yes?" Guerrero asked, already certain of the answer.

His friend sighed. "I can just imagine the earful I'm gonna get from Winston over this, but yeah. You're hired."

"Awesome." Guerrero grinned. "It'll be just like old times, huh, Junior?"

Chance winced. "Don't call me Junior."

* * *

_NINE MONTHS_

Riley's labor started at work and one of her coworkers, an older woman named Sharon, gave her a lift to the hospital. On her way there she called the Holdens on her cell and managed to explain between bouts of Lamaze breathing what was happening. They were on the road in minutes and would hopefully make it in time for the birth. In the hospital lobby, Riley's water broke, freaking Sharon out and annoying the custodian. As the helpful nurses escorted her to a room, Riley assured her coworker that she didn't need to stick around and the grateful woman rushed out with only a perfunctory congratulations.

Her labor lasted just over twelve hours. The doctor told her it was an easy birth. _Easy for you, maybe_, she thought sourly. Judging from the loud squalling, the no-longer-unborn agreed with her.

A road-weary Nancy and Drew Holden burst into the room just as the doctor finished swaddling the newborn in a light blue blanket. They were overjoyed, cooing over the tiny bundle, taking turns cradling him. The infant quieted under their attention, as if he knew these were the people who would care for him.

Riley, sprawled in the hospital, sweaty and achy and more exhausted than she'd ever been in her life, smiled at the new family. "Congratulations," she rasped.

The couple moved to stand beside her bed, Nancy carrying the newborn. "Do you want to hold him?" she asked.

Riley hesitated. She looked up at their beaming faces, the joy and pride in them. This was their happiest moment and they wanted to share it with her. "Okay." She held her arms out. Nancy passed the precious bundle to her.

Staring into the newborn's wizened features, Riley felt as if she were two different people sharing the same experience. Her head saw the infant as just another unremarkable, slightly homely newborn—purplish, squinting myopically, tiny fingers curling over nothing, tongue rolling over toothless gums—while her heart saw a small new life created from half of her and half of Guerrero. It hurt to think about him at that moment. Riley wished he could be there, even if it was just to say goodbye.

"Did you two name him yet?" she asked in a whisper, throat too sore to speak.

Drew replied, "We narrowed it down to either James or Ethan."

Riley's smile was tinged with sadness. "Ethan was my father's name." She passed the newborn over to his new father. Her heart wanted to cling to the child and never let go. But her head knew better. Instinct argued with reason, but in the end the heart gave in, because deep down it knew the head was right. There was sadness, but no regret, and no guilt. It was the right thing to do.

Ethan Holden, 7lbs 2oz, born to parents Nancy and Drew Holden.


	7. Their Separate Ways

**A/N:** Thanks, everybody, for the great reviews! I've been listening to Apocalyptica's album _7__th__ Symphony_, specifically the track "Broken Pieces" featuring vocals by Lacey from the band Flyleaf. You should check them out if you've never heard their stuff. They've got cellos!

**Disclaimer: Story's mine. _Human Target_ ain't.**

It gets easier, over time. The sadness gradually fades to a dull ache, and you find you can get on with your life.

Drew and Nancy began sending pictures on holidays and Ethan's birthdays. Riley watched over the years as he grew from chubby infant to clumsy toddler to little boy. Sometimes one or both of his parents were in the photo, sometimes the dogs, Joe and Frank. He always seemed so happy in those captured moments.

Riley was startled to realize that he'd inherited Guerrero's eyes and her smile. The older the boy got, the more he seemed to resemble the two people who brought him into the world. It brought Riley a strange mixture of pride and self-consciousness.

At first, when the pictures started arriving, she could hardly look at them. Not because they made her sad, but because they _didn't_ and she wondered what was wrong with her. She'd given birth to him, shouldn't she feel more than distant affection? But gradually she came to accept this as a sign that she'd made the right decision not to keep him. She loved Ethan, in her own way, but not as a mother would.

She also learned to accept her feelings for Guerrero. Riley no longer tried to convince herself that she was being childishly romantic. As silly and unrealistic as it was, she was in love. With that acceptance, oddly enough, she was able to go sometimes weeks at a time without thinking of him. But those feelings and those memories never really went away. Nor did she want them to.

And every once in a long while, when loneliness made sleep impossible, she returned to the same bar to search the faces around her for a glimpse of someone she knew would never be there.

"Here you go," the waiter set her diet cola in front of her. _Server_, Riley reminded herself; they were called servers now to avoid implied sexism. Riley didn't get it, herself. What did it matter what they were called so long as they got tipped? She took a sip through the straw, then noticed the wai-_server_ hadn't moved. "What?"

"Sorry," he grinned, his mouth slightly crooked, "It's just, I've seen you here quite a few times whenever I'm working the late night shift, and you always seem like you're waiting for somebody that never shows up."

Riley fiddled with the straw. "Just wishful thinking on my part," she said.

"Well, whoever it is that keeps standing you up's gotta be pretty dense. I know if I had somebody like you who might be waiting for me I'd come here every day."

Riley gave him an I'm-not-sure-whether-to-be-flattered-or-annoyed look. "Sorry, are you hitting on me or trying to get a bigger tip?"

He shrugged self-consciously. "Um, which is less likely to piss you off?"

Riley laughed and the server's grin broadened. He was cute, in an underweight, goofy sort of way. He was about Riley's age with sandy blonde hair and gray eyes. His nose was sharply pointed and his ears stuck out a little. But it was his hands that intrigued Riley, long supple fingers like a musician's. She held out her own hand in offering. "I'm Riley."

The server's slender hand wrapped around hers. "Matt." He released her hand and fidgeted slightly. "Hey, listen, I was wondering, and it's totally cool if you say no, but I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go see a movie with me...sometime."

Riley blinked in surprise. He was asking her on a date? She couldn't remember the last time she went out with someone. Her first impulse was to say no, but she stopped herself and gave it some thought. Why shouldn't she go out with him? Matt seemed like a nice guy, and it wasn't like she had men lining up to see her.

_But Guerrero..._

She mentally shook herself. Guerrero wasn't here. She was never going to see him again and she knew it. Was she really going to spend the rest of her life pining over him? That was foolish. She should at least give herself a chance at finding happiness in someone else's company.

"What kind of movie did you have in mind?"

* * *

Diane was a high-class whore, not like those trashy women who paraded themselves on the streets. Clients solicited _her_, and she was the one who decided whether they were worth her valuable time. Over the last year Guerrero had become a semi-regular of hers. He'd call her up whenever the mood struck him and she'd work him into her schedule. And the best part of the deal was, he didn't have to pay her a dime. They'd worked out their arrangement when Diane decided she needed help breaking away from her equally high-class, yet short-fused pimp. Apparently, the guy's typical method in dealing with those who tried to leave them was to cut off their noses and tits with a straight razor. Guerrero used that same straight razor to slit the pimp's throat, but not before he cut off certain parts of his anatomy no man could do without.

Diane's family background included German, African, and Cherokee ancestors, this exotic heritage resulting in raven black hair, cinnamon colored skin, and eyes so intensely blue they almost hurt to look at. A few visits to a highly skilled plastic surgeon, as well as regular trips to the gym, left her with a flawless body which she showed to full advantage in tastefully revealing gowns that probably cost more than Guerrero's Cadillac.

Their relationship was purely businesslike. Guerrero always met her at her at her "office," a suite at a five-star hotel whose management was willing to turn a blind eye to Diane's activities in return for a modest percentage of her profits. There was no time wasted on fine dinners or pleasant chitchat. They would immediately adjourn to the bedroom where Diane put her considerable skills to use, and after a quick shower Guerrero would leave, his basest needs satisfied. He preferred it this way, a relationship unfettered by emotional attachment. It was like many other arrangements he'd made with prostitutes over the years. The moment he felt even the slightest hint of something other than lust, he would sever all ties without a qualm. Simple, clean, and safer all around.

Then one evening, as Guerrero was getting dressed after one of their "sessions," Diane made an announcement.

"I'm retiring."

Guerrero frowned, puzzled. "What, now? I thought you were gonna wait, like, a couple more years 'til you had a big enough nest egg saved up."

Her smile, like everything else about her, was gorgeous and utterly lacking in depth. "I'm getting married."

His incredulous laugh was cut short by the look she gave him. "Oh. You're serious."

"Yes. And your congratulations was truly heartwarming," she said drily.

Guerrero snorted and finished buttoning up his shirt. "So who's the lucky john? Is it that eighty-something old dude? The business tycoon?"

Diane, still lounging on the rumpled bed in her pink silk negligee, shook her head. "He's not one of my johns. He's a barista at my favorite coffehouse."

Guerrero was stunned. "Are you fucking kidding me? You're giving up a four-figure-an-hour job to marry a waiter?"

"Barista," Diane corrected, "And I have plenty of money saved up for us to live comfortably. Jeff inherited a house from his parents. It's perfect for starting a family—"

"Jesus! I can't believe this shit," he scoffed, "And here I thought you were too old to believe in fairy tales."

Diane rolled her eyes. "Sorry. I was so caught up in thinking of wedding bells I forgot who I was talking to."

"You do know that statistically you're marriage is gonna fail within the first two years."

"Are you pissed because I just told you our arrangement's over? Because we both know I've more than paid you back for what you did for me."

Guerrero sighed. "You know what, it's cool," he said, pulling on his jacket with jerky movements, "If you and Jeffy wanna fuck up your lives, that's your business. There's plenty of other whores out there for me to hook up with. Speaking of which, does your _barista_ know how you've made your living?"

"He does," she answered quietly, "It bothers him, but he says he loves me anyway."

"Oh, well that's fantastic. You oughta ask the band to play _Pretty Woman_ at your reception."

Diane smirked. "Maybe I will."

Guerrero rolled his eyes. "Fine then. I hope you pop out a dozen fat kids and live happily ever after with Jeff, the barista with a heart of gold."

Diane smiled, a genuine one this time, without the protective facade she'd maintained her entire adult life. "I hope so, too."

Guerrero snorted and left the suite without a backward look. Out in the hotel's parking lot, he headed for his parked El-Do with his hands in his pockets and his eyes cast down towards his moving feet. It bothered him how Diane's announcement affected him. It wasn't that he gave a damn about her; it was the way her engagement reminded him of that empty place inside him. An emptiness he'd been aware of ever since he met Riley. It was like someone born colorblind who one day glimpsed a rainbow, only to return to black-and-white. The difference now was he _knew_ what he'd been missing. Aw, god! Now he was thinking up cheesy metaphors! _Somebody shoot me now._

Was this what Chance felt when he met Katherine Walters? If so, Guerrero wondered how his otherwise intelligent friend could allow himself become so vulnerable. How did he keep going with such weakness bearing him down? Guerrero didn't understand. He _hated_ this feeling, but he was afraid that it might go away and then he'd be dead inside. The protective armor he'd built around himself would no longer be a front; he would truly be the monster people believed he already was.

Guerrero unlocked the El-Do and got into the driver's seat. He rested his hands on the steering wheel and closed his eyes, letting his breath out through his nose in a long exhale as he forced his upsetting thoughts as far back in his mind as they'd go. He wasn't doing himself any favors, thinking about Riley. She'd probably forgotten all about him by now, anyway. She might even be married, might have started a family of her own. What were they to each other, really, but a blip in each other's lives? Hardly worth the effort of recalling. Certainly not enough for anything meaningful to have sprung from it. That's what Guerrero kept telling himself. He wondered when he'd finally stop having to be reminded.

* * *

_Riiiing!_ The old-style alarm clock with the two bells set atop like mouse ears went off, rudely jolting Riley from a pleasant dream. Groaning, eyes squeezed shut, she flailed out with one arm and slapped the off switch, almost knocking the clock over in the process. Happy Monday.

"'Zit morning already?" a groggy voice beside her broke the welcome silence.

Riley turned over. Matt, his hair mussed from sleep, blinked at her from the other side of her bed. They'd been dating for a little over three weeks when Riley finally decided to take things to the next level. This was the first time they'd spent the night together. As she recalled, it had been an enjoyable experience.

"Hey," she said to him.

Matt's lips pulled into that goofy, crooked grin she found so adorable. "Hey yourself." His tired eyes took in her expression. "What's wrong?"

Riley bit her lip. "I feel guilty."

"What for? We both talked about it and agreed to just be friends-with-benefits. It's not like you're leading me on or anything."

"I know," she said, "That's not what I'm feeling guilty about."

"Oh, right," Matt smiled good-naturedly, "You mean the mysterious guy you still carry a torch for. Feel like you're cheating on him?"

Riley sighed. She'd known early on in their relationship that she would never feel anything deeper than fondness for Matt and had explained to him why, giving the highlights of her brief time with Guerrero and leaving out most of the details, including the fact that they had a child. She hadn't wanted Matt to get his hopes up for something that was never going to happen between them. Fortunately, he was very understanding.

"Yeah," she admitted, "I do. You think that's dumb?"

Matt appeared to give it some thought. He shrugged. "Well, I've never been in a serious relationship, so I'm not really one to judge. I do think you should go easy on yourself, though. I mean, you haven't seen this guy in, what, six years? He's bound to have moved on."

"I know. You're right, but," she shrugged helplessly, "I can't help the way I feel."

"'Sokay." Matt rubbed her shoulder, the gesture more comradely than intimate, for which Riley was grateful. "What d'you say I try my hand at chivalry and make you breakfast?"

Riley smiled. "Okay. I think I still have some eggs in the fridge."

"I am _great_ with eggs," Matt declared, sitting up and gesturing expansively with his hands, "I can make 'em any way you want. As long as they're scrambled."

Riley giggled. "Then I guess I'll have scrambled eggs."

"Cool. You go ahead and take a shower. I'll take care of the rest." Matt hopped out of bed, pausing to throw on the clothes he'd worn the previous night, and trotted out the bedroom door. Riley shook her head at his almost childish enthusiasm, then got up and headed for the bathroom.

Later, over eggs and coffee, she and Matt agreed to get together over the weekend and check out a new music store that had recently opened. Riley was glad they had the sort of relationship that took things a day at a time, nothing long term, nothing strong between them. Matt eased the worst of her loneliness and didn't try to compete with the forever absent Guerrero for her affections. Riley had come to view what they had as a stepping-stone, a way for her to gradually learn to move on with her life. Someday she might find someone who she could get closer to, perhaps even love. In some ways she hoped Guerrero was doing the same; he deserved to some happiness in his life.

There were more than a few people who would've considered her delusional for having such thoughts about Guerrero, but Riley wouldn't have cared had she known. She felt no need to justify her feelings for him, to herself or anyone.

After breakfast, Matt gave her a ride to work. As his old GMC Gremlin pulled up in front of the library, Riley leaned over to give him a brief kiss before she got out of the car.

"Have a good day at work, honey!" Matt called after her in a falsetto voice, mimicking the sound of a housewife from a 1950's sitcom.

Riley laughed, waving goodbye to him as she headed for the main door. Matt smiled as he pulled his car away from the curb and headed for his own apartment to grab a few more hours' sleep before heading to the bar for the late shift.


	8. Revelation

A/N: There's a smattering of dialog taken from the Season 1 episode "Baptiste." It's my favorite episode of the first season, mainly because it has some of my favorite Guerrero scenes. Top of the list is the scene where he and Baptiste talk over the phone. The way he reacted when Baptiste mentioned his kid and his silence afterwards when he hung up the phone was priceless. Great acting without saying a word, and totally open to interpretation. So, here's my interpretation as it regards to my fic. Happy reading!

P.S. Just so's you know, there will be lemon in the next chapter.

Also, as a side note, I wrote this chapter while listening to another Apocalyptica song. This time it was the track "Not Strong Enough" featuring Brent Smith from Shinedown. I found the lyrics quite helpful in setting the mood.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Human Target_ or any of the characters therein (but I can dream).**

Guerrero had to admit to himself that he, Chance, and Winston pitting themselves against Baptiste held a thrill that'd been missing in his work for quite a while. Hacking the FBI's system was in itself an edgy prospect, but trying to outwit someone who they'd known for years, who Chance himself trained to be the best assassin out there...it was like playing a game of chess against a world champion. And Guerrero took perverse enjoyment out of finding ways to bring him and his partners one step ahead of the Old Man's current golden boy.

"I've got the number!" the New Girl, Layla-something, fairly bounced in her seat.

Guerrero pretended to be unimpressed. "'Kay, give me the number."

New Girl frowned. "Wouldn't it be better to call him on he speaker phone? That way we could both listen for—"

"Nuh-uh, dude," he shook his head, "Things between me and Baptiste are a little too personal for an audience."

"But..."

"What's wrong? Doncha trust me?" He smiled in a way that said _you don't wanna push it_.

New Girl swallowed. "Okay." She read off the number. Guerrero punched it up on his phone and got up to put some distance between them. He stood in the doorway leading to the FBI chick's creepy Chance shrine, his back to New Girl, and hit send on his phone. After a couple of rings Baptiste picked up.

"Hey, mate."

A short pause, then the familiar tragic voice responded, _"Hello, dude."_

It was the first time they'd spoken to each other since their confrontation in front of Riley's apartment building. Guerrero easily pushed aside any weirdness he felt and chatted his former colleague up, keeping his ear tuned to any background noise that might prove helpful in figuring out his location. He knew Baptiste wasn't fooled when he made his phony offer to help him with his assassination. Guerrero wouldn't have believed it, either, in his place.

_"I'm sorry, are you saying that you're willing to betray our old friend?"_

"In this economy? Whatever pays the bills, dude." Guerrero glanced over his shoulder, saw New Girl's troubled expression at hearing his side of the conversation. She wisely remained silent, however. Guerrero hated to admit it, but he kinda liked the rookie. Even though she was pretty naïve, she was smart enough to pick up on things quickly. She had the makings of a good hacker.

Guerrero turned his back to her again and fidgeted a little as Baptiste started one of his little monologues. There were days when they used to work together when Guerrero flat-out told him to drop the whole villain cliché of making unnecessary speeches, not that it did any good. He wasn't about to say anything against that habit now, though. The longer Baptiste talked, the better chance Guerrero had of overhearing some vital clue.

_"Anyone else, then yeah," _the assassin continued,_ "But he's the one person that you would never turn against." (_The faint toll of church bells overlapped his words, the clue Guerrero had been waiting for.)_ "Not yet, anyway. Not until you've lost everything."_

And here came the threat. Seriously, couldn't the guy cut back on the drama just once?

_"Oh, by the way, I never got the chance to congratulate you on becoming a family man. How old is the little one right now?"_

Guerrero froze. A feeling like icewater ran through him as the impact of Baptiste's words sank in. _He's lying_, Guerrero thought, but he knew this was no lie. He knew by the gloating in the man's voice as he said, _"You know, when we're finished with you, you're going to _beg _to return to the fold,"_ and then hung up.

Guerrero pulled the silent phone away from his ear and pursed his lips. The only way Baptiste would know something like that was if he'd watched over one of the numerous women Guerrero had slept with over the years. And there was only one he'd ever had a reason to keep an eye on. The memory of her face rose in Guerrero's mind and the icewater inside him turned into that familiar emptiness he felt every time he thought about her.

He didn't succeed in keeping her safe after all.

"Doesn't look like he gave anything away."

New Girl's voice jolted him from his reverie. It was only thanks to years of practice in compartmentalizing his thoughts that he was able to force the terrible knowledge aside to deal with later. "Actually, he did."

They managed to foil Baptiste's plans and and got the assassin imprisoned. Guerrero felt some relief that the immediate danger was over, but there was still Baptiste's revelation to deal with. Trouble was, he couldn't keep it together long enough to figure out what to do. His thoughts kept returning to Riley and their faceless child and the terrible realization that he now had something more to lose. A weakness for others to exploit. All his precautions, his emotional distancing, and fate still found a way to fuck with him.

He needed to talk to someone about this. There was only one person he could trust.

Guerrero stormed into the building without so much as a hello and found Chance sitting with Winston, both of them poring over a bunch of papers. The blonde man's eyes had that glazed look they always got when dealing with paperwork. He welcomed the interruption. "Hey, man. What's up?"

"Dude, I need to talk to you for a sec."

"Can't you see we're in the middle of something?" Winston snapped. He gestured at the litter of pages on the table with a sweep of his hand. "I've finally gotten Chance to sit down to work out a new budget—"

"The money stuff can wait," Guerrero interrupted, "This is important."

"More important than avoiding foreclosure?" the former cop asked drily.

Chance looked closely at Guerrero's expression and knew whatever was bothering his friend was serious. He rose from his seat. "A few minutes won't hurt."

"No, dammit!" Winston scowled, "You always jump on the tiniest excuse to get outta handling the financial aspect of this business. I'm not gonna let you get away with it this time."

"C'mon, Winston. We both know you're better with the numbers. Just work it out yourself. I'll trust you to do a good job." Chance flashed a grin, its charm undiminished even though his face still bore many of the bruises and scrapes from his confrontation with Baptiste.

His associate wasn't having any of it. "I'm not worried about the plan. I already got one worked out. It's making you stick to it that I wanna address."

Guerrero sighed impatiently. Chance held up a hand to forestall any snarkiness that would only provoke Winston further. "Look," he said to the former cop, "just give us a few minutes and I _promise_," he pressed both hands together in a prayer-like gesture, "the second we're done I'll come right back and spend however long you like on your...budget...stuff." He waved a hand over the scattered papers.

The large man's dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. Chance offered another easygoing smile, his trust-me smile. Winston grumbled, "Fine. It better be damn important."

"Life and death stuff, dude," said Guerrero.

Winston rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right."

Chance led Guerrero up the stairs to his apartment. Carmine looked up from where he was sprawled on the rug and wagged his stubby tail. Chance gave the rottweiler a friendly scratch behind the ears, then plopped down on the couch and indicated Guerrero do the same. "So," he said once the smaller man was seated, "is it really life and death stuff or were you just determined to muscle in on Winston's budget meeting? Not that I'm complaining or anything..."

Seated, Guerrero's posture was stiff. Usually he lounged, put his feet up on the nearest piece of furniture or crossed one ankle over his knee. The fact that his careless facade had cracked enough to show this much tension told Chance his friend was deeply troubled.

"When I called up Baptiste," Guerrero began, "he told me something that he'd found out about me."

Chance frowned. What on earth could the assassin have found out about Guerrero that would bother him so? "What'd he say?"

The muscles in the smaller man's jaw twitched. "He said I have a kid."

Chance could not have been more stunned if Guerrero said he was giving up criminal life to join a monastery. "You what now?"

Guerrero ran a hand across his forehead. "I have a kid."

It didn't sound any less shocking the second time. "What the hell? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know, dude! He just sprang it on me."

"Wait..." Chance leaned towards him, one hand held up, "So you don't know for sure he was telling you the truth? I mean, he might've been just trying to freak you out."

"Well, he sure as hell did that," Guerrero uttered a mirthless laugh, then just as quickly sobered, "But I don't think he was lying."

Chance rested his forearms on his knees, pondering this crazy new development. "I've never even seen you with the same woman twice. How the hell would he have found out? He couldn't have kept track of them all."

Guerrero brooded in silence, then finally answered, "I think I know who the mother is."

"Care to enlighten me?"

He stared down at the floor, hands clasped in front of him. "The day I quit working for the Old Man I went to a bar to unwind and I met this woman. Wound up spending the rest of the weekend with her."

"She must've left one hell of an impression," Chance observed, knowing his friend's tendency to view women as pleasant distractions at best.

Guerrero nodded, eyes still turned downward. "I wanted to stay longer." He seemed ashamed by this admission, which for him was major.

"Why didn't you?"

Guerrero finally turned his gaze towards the blonde man. His eyes flashed in irritation. "Don't be a dumbass."

"What?" Chance asked, "If you really liked this girl, why not spend more time with her?"

"'Cause I'm not like you, dude," Guerrero snapped, getting to his feet, "I'm not the kind of guy who's gonna fall for some chick he's just met."

"Hey, I'm not saying it was anything like love at first sight. But you two obviously made some kind of connection. Why not stick around and see where it goes?"

Guerrero scoffed. "Sure, dude. We both know how well that worked out for you."

Chance slowly rose from his seat and calmly faced his friend. "I don't regret falling in love with Katherine, even if we only had a short time. If I hadn't, she'd still be dead and I'd still be working for the Old Man and hating myself for it more and more."

Guerrero shoved his hands into his pockets. His Adam's apple bobbed. "Katherine Walters was already in danger when you met her, dude. If anything happens to Riley or the...the kid, it'll be my fault." He snorted, shook his head. "I kept away from her to keep her safe, and instead I got her pregnant so Baptiste had a reason not to lose interest in her. Tried to do the right thing and just made it worse."

Chance bit his lip before he carefully suggested, "There's no reason you can't go see them now. Baptiste already knows about 'em. It's not like they could end up in any more danger. At least now _we_ know and can protect them if we have to."

Guerrero felt gratitude for the "we" in that statement. But he shook his head. "No. I don't think seeing them would be such a good idea, bro."

"Why not?" Chance frowned, "Don't tell me you don't care about 'em, 'cause we both know that's bullshit. So why not go and meet your kid? See if this woman—Riley—still feels something for you?"

"People don't feel anything for me, dude. 'Cept relief that I'm not around."

"That's...not..._necessarily_ true," Chance protested feebly.

Guerrero smirked.

"I mean, _I _like having you around. Most times."

"Gee, thanks."

Chance's expression turned sympathetic. "You know, you're not really making them any safer by staying away. All you're doing is hurting yourself."

Guerrero glared at him. "Who the hell says I'm hurtin', dude?"

"I'm just saying-"

"I'm not gonna go see them because I don't _want_ to, okay?" Guerrero's hands balled into fists that held the faintest tremble, a sign that the conversation was dangerously close to turning physical. "They don't mean a fucking thing to me!"

A short distance from them, Carmine whined and wriggled his considerable bulk under the coffee table. Chance didn't speak, knowing that anything he said at this point would only set Guerrero off. After a few tense minutes had passed, Guerrero turned away. His blue eyes stared at some distant point and his fists slackened enough to let the whiteness of his knuckles fade. "I don't want to see them," he said, voice hardly above a whisper.

Chance stepped closer to him, close enough that he could have put his hand on the smaller man's shoulder, if he'd wanted to risk it. "It's okay, man," he said quietly, "I understand."

Guerrero swallowed, not looking at him. "It...hurts."

"I know." Chance lifted his hand and slowly, cautiously, placed it on his shoulder. Guerrero didn't push it away. They stayed like this for a while, neither of them speaking. Finally, Guerrero shifted and Chance withdrew his hand.

Guerrero felt drained by his turmoil. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "This situation's totally messed up, dude."

Chance's mouth quirked. "You're telling me."

"Don't tell Winston," the smaller man asked, "I know he's your friend and all, but the fewer people who know about this, the better."

"Okay. It's just between us." Chance ventured a question, "What're you going to do?"

Guerrero snorted ironically. "I'm gonna go and see for myself if Baptiste was right. I don't think he was lying, but I have to _know_."

Chance nodded. "If you need anything, any kind of help, you call me. Alright?"

"'Kay." Guerrero turned to face him. "Thanks, bro."

"Don't mention it."

The smaller man smirked. "Don't worry, dude. I won't."

* * *

She still lived in the same apartment. Guerrero saw her name on the intercom button: Riley Lindstrom. He made sure to stop by while she was at work. He didn't want to confront her, he told himself, just make sure that what Baptiste had said was really true. The lock on the door proved child's play to pick and he climbed the stairs to the second floor where he found her apartment number. The lock on her door didn't pose any more of a challenge than the main entry and he slipped into the apartment's dim interior without a sound. He flipped on the lights and gazed around him with an odd sense of déjà vu. He saw the same general clutter, the same stacks of books piled on the furniture. The only noticeable difference was the newer, more comfortable looking sofa. No sign of a kid anywhere. Guerrero sighed, relieved. Maybe Baptiste had lied after all.

He began looking through her things, mostly out of habit from years of breaking into people's homes to gather incriminating info. Guerrero couldn't resist snooping around. It seemed Riley's life hadn't gotten any more exciting since he last saw her. He found some old utility bills on an end table, found her fridge loaded mostly with takeout boxes. Guerrero was tempted to help himself to some Chinese, but decided against it. He didn't want her to know anyone had been here.

Guerrero found an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, as well as a disposable razor and shaving cream. A deep scowl creased his features. He went to the bedroom last. He stared at the rumpled bed for a long moment, remembering the brief time when she'd shared it with him. He opened the dresser drawers, found the usual garments, socks, panties, folded T-shirts. He didn't find any men's clothes in their own drawer, though. Whoever it was probably didn't spend that much time at her place. Guerrero told himself it didn't matter to him one way or the other, but he couldn't quite ignore the relief he felt at knowing her relationship with his guy probably wasn't serious. He shut the drawers, started to turn away, when he noticed a thin book on top of the dresser. He picked it up. It was a small photo album. Guerrero felt a tingle in the pit of his stomach. He knew, even before he opened it, what he would find inside.

The very first picture was of a baby. He was seated in a highchair, a cake situated on the table in front of him. The cake was round and decorated in white icing, a candle shaped like a numeral 1 on top. The baby's head was covered in wispy light brown hair, his large eyes a startling shade of blue. His little mouth gaped in a happy smile, tooth-buds peeking from his bright pink gums.

The next picture, the baby was a little older. He was sitting on the lap of one of those crappy mall Santas, his chubby fists tangled in the guy's fake beard, threatening to yank the whole thing off. The one after that showed him with someone in an Easter Bunny suit. The kid was pulling on one of the Bunny's floppy ears.

Guerrero's throat tightened. He slowly walked over to the bed and sat down. Seated on the edge of the bed, he turned the pages of the album, looking at the images of his son. In one he looked to be about three years old, seated on a bright red tricycle. In another he was sitting on a stone wall between a smiling man and woman who hugged the child with a proprietary air. They had to be the adoptive parents. Riley obviously decided she couldn't raise the boy on her own and gave him up to this couple. They seemed like a happy, ordinary family. The little boy looked cared for and loved.

Guerrero heard the apartment door open. Startled, his eyes jerked to the alarm clock on the nightstand. How long had he been sitting here staring at pictures? Obviously long enough for Riley to come home from work. He glanced at the bedroom window. There was a fire escape out there. He could easily sneak out before she knew he was even there. But he didn't. He didn't move at all until Riley walked past the open bedroom door and froze mid-step. Until she was standing in the doorway staring at him in stunned disbelief and all the memories and feelings he'd struggled so long to keep under wraps rose up and threatened to drown him.

* * *

Riley stared, unable to believe what she saw. Years after she'd come to terms with his absence, Guerrero had returned. She wanted to run to him, but was afraid to move and find he was nothing more than a figment. Her wide eyes took in the album in his hands and tears welled up, threatening to spill down her cheeks.

Guerrero stood, closed the album and set it on the nightstand. He looked at her with his hard blue eyes and said in a voice so quiet she had to strain to hear it, "Hey, dude."

Riley choked back a sob. The tears rolled down her face. "I'm sorry," she said, her tenuous control slipping away, "I looked for you. I wanted to tell you, but you weren't there. You didn't come back and I didn't know what else to do."

Guerrero went to her, not knowing what he would do once he reached her. He didn't know anything about comforting others. Usually, he was the one who caused their distress. But as he got close Riley hurried to close the distance. Her arms went around him, clinging so tightly, and Guerrero found his own arms wrapping around her. His senses were flooded with her scent, the feel of her body against his, and then his mouth met hers and he tasted her clean taste, and then all thought slipped away.


	9. Betrayal

**A/N:** This chapter starts with a lemon and ends with...well...let's say a different mood altogether.

**Disclaimer: _Human Target..._blah...blah... Not mine.**

Guerrero lay on his back, his arms around Riley, her head resting against his chest. They were in her bed, wearing nothing but contented smiles. Thus proving that history truly did repeat itself. Minutes ago they'd both shared one of the most intense sexual experiences Guerrero ever had. The turning point occurred when Riley stopped him from getting the condom from his back pocket. "You don't need it," she'd told him, smiling, "I'm on the pill now."

Guerrero had hesitated; he'd never had sex without protection, not even when he lost his virginity. It required a sense of trust he didn't possess. He'd experienced too much for that. But then Riley kissed him, the taste of her filling him with longing, and whispered to him, "It's okay." And he'd let her guide him into her with nothing between them.

How could he ever go back to using prophylactics after that?

Riley nuzzled him. "I'm so happy you came back."

Guerrero chuckled. "Yeah, obviously."

She lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Why did you?"

He didn't answer for a long time. Riley waited patiently. Finally, Guerrero told her, "Somebody I used to work with mentioned I had a kid."

Riley frowned. "Somebody? Another hit man?"

Reluctantly, he nodded.

"But...why would..." A sliver of fear worked its way into her. "What're you not telling me?"

He didn't want to tell her—she was already getting scared—but she needed to know. He told her about Baptiste, about the assassin's interest in her as an exploitable weakness against Guerrero, about the thinly veiled threat he'd made against her and the boy. By the time he finished explaining it all Riley was sitting up and hugging herself. "Oh, god," she whispered, "He's gonna hurt Ethan."

"No he's not," Guerrero said firmly, "Baptiste's rotting in prison right now. He's not gonna get to you or the kid. I won't let anything happen to either of you."

Riley shook her head. Her chin trembled. "This is my fault. I couldn't bring myself to end the pregnancy. I...I gave him a reason to..."

"Shut up." Guerrero grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. "None of this is your fault, okay? I'm the one who put you in danger. This is on me."

Riley sniffed. She looked like she was about to cry. "Are you gonna leave me again?"

Guerrero let out a humorless laugh. "You weren't even supposed to know I was here. You have a bad effect on me, y'know. Make me weak."

"I'm sorry."

"For god's sake, don't apologize. That's like twisting the knife." He ran his fingers through his tousled hair, trying to think straight. Trying to convince himself that leaving was exactly what he should do. But now that he was with her again the empty place in him was gone. It made no sense. This attachment, this _dependence_, should have rendered him useless. Instead he felt _stronger_, like nothing could ever break him. As long as he had her.

"I'm not staying here," he began.

Riley felt something break in her. But then...

"So, I guess you'll just hafta come with me."

She was too stunned to talk at first. "W-what?"

"Come with me," Guerrero said. He stared into her dark eyes, hoping.

Riley shook her head, not in denial, but dismay. Go with him? Leave her job, her apartment, her handful of friends? Drop her entire safe, predictable existence and run away with a man who even now she barely knew? A man who, by his own admission, made a career of murdering people for money. Whose very presence placed her life in danger. It didn't take a genius to know what her answer should be. But Riley no longer cared what was right or sane or lawful. She'd let him drift out of her life six years ago and had regretted it ever since. She wasn't about to put herself through that again.

"Alright."

Guerrero felt the tension he hadn't realized he had ease. He grinned. "You're outta your mind. You know that, right?"

Riley smiled. "Yeah. I figured that out some time ago." She put her arms around his neck and drew him into a kiss. Guerrero's hands slid across her back. He held her in the kiss for as long as he could. When it ended, Riley's expression was troubled. "What about Ethan?"

"Ethan," Guerrero spoke his son's name for the first time. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he found himself smiling. He liked that name. "Where is he now?"

"With his adoptive parents. They live out of state."

"They sent you the pictures."

"Yeah." Riley smiled fondly. "They're good people. Very open about the adoption. They even said I could visit if I wanted."

Guerrero absently ran his hands up and down her back as he worked things out. "Pretty much a given Baptiste's already tracked down where he lives. Whether or not he's gonna leak the info at some point, I dunno, but there's plenty of people out there who'd be happy to use Ethan to get to me."

Riley swallowed, but kept quiet. Her arms tightened around him.

"I'll have to call in a lot of favors, probably wind up owing a few, but I can make sure him and his step-parents are protected."

"I don't want them living in some kind of fortress," Riley interjected, "They don't deserve that. Ethan should have a chance to grow up like any normal kid."

"He will," Guerrero promised, "They won't even know they're being watched."

"But they'll be safe?" she asked anxiously.

He nodded. "Safe as anybody can be without holing up in a bunker."

Riley smiled, relieved. Guerrero brought one hand up to cup the side of her face. "What about you?" he asked quietly, "How d'you feel about living in a fortress?" Because that's what he was determined to do. His cared about his son, but the kid was a stranger with his own family, his own life completely separate from his biological parents. If it ever came down to a choice between Riley's life and Ethan's, as selfish as it was, Guerrero would choose to save Riley. He would do whatever it took to keep her away from his enemies. But at the same time, he didn't want to imprison her. If she were to live in a cage, it would be one without locks.

Riley leaned into his touch. "I told you when we met, I only work because I have to. I'm practically a hermit. You can lock me away like a princess in a tower and I'll be happy, long as I have plenty to read. And you."

Guerrero brought his other hand up to cradle her face. His thumbs brushed against her cheeks. "How the hell did I get myself into this?"

Riley grinned. "Who cares?" She gently pulled his hands away from her face and gripped them in her own. Rising from the bed, she gave his hands a tug. "C'mon."

Guerrero gave her a puzzled look.

"Come on!" she laughed, pulling harder, "We both need a shower. I'll even wash your back."

His eyebrows rose. "Cool." He got up from the bed and followed her to the bathroom where he glimpsed the man's razor and shaving cream. He gave the items a sour look.

Riley noticed his expression. "His name's Matt. He's just a friend."

"Oh, sure," Guerrero said, "I got plenty of friends asking me to babysit their favorite shaving accessories. Happens all the damn time."

Riley smirked. "And I suppose you've spent the last six years living a life of celibacy?"

"No, but I never brought any of 'em back to my place," he said in a low voice. Not angry, exactly, but...

"You're jealous." Riley's smile was gentle. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit thrilled by that. But I meant what I said earlier; Matt's just a friend. With...benefits..." she trailed off guiltily.

Guerrero couldn't help but smile at her obvious discomfort. "So...basically, you just kept him around 'til something better came along."

She arched a brow. "That's a pretty tactless way of putting it."

"'Tactless' just means I call it the way everybody else is too gutless to admit they see it." He pushed aside the shower's frosted glass partition. "Shall we?"

Riley shook her head at him with an amused smile and stepped into the stall. Guerrero followed, sliding the partition closed behind them. Riley turned on the water; both of them liked their showers hot. Soon clouds of steam flooded the bathroom.

Guerrero suddenly grabbed her shoulder and spun her to face him, pulling her against him as his mouth met hers in a kiss. Riley gave a small laugh, her breath tickling his face. When the kiss ended she tilted her head back into the shower's stream, wetting her hair. Guerrero's lips trailed down her exposed neck. He turned them both until Riley's back was pressed against the tiled wall. Guerrero brought one hand to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her wet tresses, and drew her into another kiss. This one was deeper than before, their tongues sliding against each other. One of Riley's legs hooked itself around Guerrero's hip. Guerrero ground his pelvis against hers. His erection slid over her folds, everything hot and wet from the shower and their arousal. Guerrero reached down with his free hand to adjust himself. Riley uttered a faint whimper as she felt him penetrate her folds and slowly enter her. Once he was buried to the hilt inside her he brought his hand to her ass. He drew out his length almost completely, only the tip of him still inside her, then abruptly plunged back in, eliciting a loud moan from her. As he continued to move in and out of her he used his grip on her ass to pull her closer for each inward thrust, driving himself deeper into her core.

"Christ," someone groaned. Neither of them was certain who.

Guerrero felt Riley's teeth against his shoulder; not biting, just muffling her cries. His breath came out in ragged gasps. His thrusts grew more urgent. Riley's cries rose in pitch until they sounded almost like screams. She threw her head back, bumping it against the tiles. The cords of her neck stood out.

Guerrero felt her inner walls pulsate around him, the sensation intensified by the lack of a condom to act as a barrier. "Oh fuck!" he grunted and rammed into her with almost brutal force. Riley's eyes widened an instant before she let out a shriek as she came. A long, drawn-out moan escaped between Guerrero's clenched teeth. His entire body shuddered. The tension slowly drained from them until they could barely stand. They leaned against each other in a tired embrace.

Guerrero looked down at the floor of the shower. "Thank god for non-skid appliqués."

Riley giggled. She leaned back and stared into his eyes. Guerrero saw her mouth open as if about to tell him something, but then changed her mind.

"What?" he asked.

Riley smiled, shook her head. She didn't want to brush it off with a flippant "Nothing," but she was too uncertain about his reaction to tell him what she'd been almost said. How she felt about him. So she remained silent.

Riley grabbed the shower gel and bath sponge from the rack hanging over the showerhead. "I promised I'd wash your back."

It didn't take Guerrero's talent for reading people to know she was holding something back—her face was so open—but he decided not to push it. They took turns using the sponge on each other. It wasn't long before their bathing degenerated into a heavy makeout session, both of them too tired for it to take it any further. Guerrero found he enjoyed it almost as much as full-on sex. He enjoyed figuring out what made Riley groan in ecstasy or sigh in pleasure, what made her squirm against him or shriek from ticklishness. She in turn did the same to him, exploring every scar, every mole and freckle on his body. She knelt on the floor of the shower and lavished kisses on his belly scar, just as she had years ago. Only this time Guerrero wasn't assaulted with the memory of how he'd received it. He ran his fingers through her wet hair and closed his eyes to focus on the sensation of her soft lips on his skin.

They finally got out of the shower when the hot water ran out. It was as they were drying each other off that Riley heard the buzz of the apartment's intercom. "Oh, shoot."

Guerrero smirked; fake cussing was so cute. "Just ignore it."

_Buzzzz!_

"I can't," Riley groaned, "The sound drives me nuts." She grabbed her bathrobe from its hook on the bathroom door. The terrycloth robe was bright yellow and covered in smiley-faces. Riley put it on as she hurried out into the living room. She hit the reply button on the intercom, cutting it off mid-buzz. "Hello?"

_"Hey, it's me,"_ Matt's tinny voice emitted from the little speaker, _"Did I leave my sunglasses up there the other day?"_

Riley grimaced. "Uh, yeah. Come on up." She buzzed him in, then hurried to retrieve the sunglasses from her coffee table. Maybe if she returned them to him at the door, he and Guerrero wouldn't have to meet. She wasn't sure how well an encounter between those two would go down.

Matt flashed his crooked smile as he took the shades back from her and hooked them over his shirt collar. "Thanks. Sorry for dragging you out of the shower."

"It's fine," Riley assured him, "I was already done."

The soft yet distinctive sounds of movement reached their ears. Matt gave Riley a curious look, saw her discomfort, and grinned. "You minx, you've got somebody up here! No wonder you're all fidgety."

"Yeah." Riley gave a slightly nervous laugh.

"Who is it? Anybody I know?"

"Well...You know _of_ him."

Matt's eyebrows shot up. "No way! Your old flame? He actually came back?"

"He did." Riley's smile broadened in undeniable happiness. "Um, I know this is kinda weird..."

"Ah," Matt waved off her attempt at an apology, "Don't worry, my heart's not broken. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks."

Matt's gaze shifted behind her. At the same time, Riley felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist. She glanced over her shoulder at Guerrero. He'd put on his shirt and jeans, his glasses perched on his nose.

"Aren't ya gonna introduce us?" Guerrero asked.

Riley resigned herself to the inevitable. "Matt, this is Guerrero. Guerrero, this is my friend, Matt."

"Hey," Matt said in a friendly tone.

"Hey, man," Guerrero said cheerfully, "I helped myself to your razor. Hope ya don't mind."

Riley tried and failed to suppress a grin. She and Matt exchanged amused glances.

"No problem," Matt said. He tucked his hands behind him, hooking his thumbs in the back pockets of his jeans. His stance was relaxed and casual. "You wouldn't be the guy who owns that Caddy I saw parked in front of the building?" he asked.

"Sure am, dude," Guerrero answered, the pride in his voice unmistakeable.

"Sweet ride," Matt said.

Guerrero nodded. "Yep. And it's all mine." His arms tightened around Riley's waist, subtly forcing her to lean back against him.

Another look passed between Riley and Matt, one Guerrero recognized as a get-this-guy look. He couldn't detect anything more than friendship between them, just as Riley had said. He watched Matt closely for the slightest hint of jealousy or anger.

"Matt," Riley spoke, "I guess now's as good a time as any to tell you, I'm gonna be moving away soon to live with Guerrero."

Matt quirked an eyebrow. "Not wasting any time, are ya?" He shifted his stance, his hands sliding further up his back to hook into his belt. "I'm guessing it's pretty far, huh?"

"Yeah," Riley said, her voice tinged with sadness, "But we can still keep in touch, right?"

Matt smiled. "I'd like that."

And the next instant, Riley was violently flung aside. She hit the floor with a painful thud, rolling until she lay facing the door. Her stunned mind had trouble processing what she saw. Guerrero and Matt were struggling in the doorway, Guerrero tightly gripping Matt's wrists. There was something in Matt's hands. It took a moment for Riley's mind to click, and when it did her eyes widened in shock. Matt was holding a gun with a silencer on it.

The two men surged into the apartment. Riley scrambled to her feet and backed away until she was against the wall. Her hands clung to the front of her robe and she gaped at the struggle happening before her. Riley always hated in movies or TV shows where the hero and the villain fought and the hero's love interest stood apart from them wringing her hands. The sight made Riley want to reach through the screen and throttle the stupid girl, to make her _do something_. But now she found herself in the very same situation she found herself rooted to the spot, too caught up in her own fear and shock to do more than stare helplessly. The fighting was so quick she could hardly discern one movement from the next. The fact that the two men hardly made a sound only heightened the strangeness. No loud yelling or hurled insults, just the occasional grunt and meaty thud as heavy blows were exchanged. Every time she blinked they traded places. First Guerrero on top, then Matt, then Guerrero. And then suddenly the gun was in Guerrero's hand and he smashed it against Matt's face. There was a sickening crunch and blood fountained from Matt's nose. As Riley's friend clutched his wounded face, Guerrero leapt to his feet and backed away, leveling the gun on the injured man.

"Who the fuck do you work for?" Guerrero snarled.

Matt glared up at him.

Guerrero cast a quick glance at Riley, the movement too swift for the other man to take advantage of. "Riley. _Riley._"

The sharp tone jolted her out of her shock. She looked at him.

"Close the door, baby," he said in a gentler tone.

Trembling, Riley edged around the two men and pushed the apartment door shut. She placed her back against it. "Don't kill him."

Guerrero ignored her. He repeated his question to Matt, "Who do you work for?"

Matt wouldn't answer. Guerrero's expression grew annoyed. The silenced gun's aim abruptly shifted. There was a muted pop and a crimson patch bloomed on Matt's leg. The skinny man wailed. Riley uttered a scream and turned away, hands covering her eyes.

"I really don't like repeating myself, dude."

"I don't know who the client is!" Matt shouted, "He used middlemen to get in touch with me! Never the same person twice."

Riley slowly pulled her hands away from her eyes, turned to face them. She couldn't believe what she heard. "Matt?"

"I seriously doubt that's his real name," Guerrero said drily. "So, alias Matt, care to share the gory details?"

Matt gripped his injured leg with both hands, grimacing in pain. Blood dripped onto the floorboards. "All I know is I was supposed to stay close to Riley and wait for the word."

"And then kill her," Guerrero finished.

Matt swallowed, nodded. "Unless you showed up first. Then I was supposed to kill you both right away."

"And what about my kid?" Guerrero asked, voice dangerously calm, "Somebody watching him? Waiting to put a bullet in his head?"

Riley choked back a sob.

Matt shook his head. "I don't know, man. I didn't even know about any kid 'til Riley mentioned him. I was just supposed to off you and the woman."

Guerrero's mouth curled in a grim smile. "Lucky for us I've been doing this way longer than you have." He aimed the gun at Matt's head.

_"Don't!"_

Guerrero froze at Riley's cry.

"Please," she begged him, "Don't kill him."

Guerrero's jaws clenched. What the fuck was she thinking, begging for this asshole's life? "Were you just in the same room as us? Your pal here admitted he was gonna kill you."

Riley repeated herself in a tearful whisper, "Please don't kill him."

Guerrero's scowl deepened. The corner of his mouth quirked in a sneer. "How's this for irony? Six years ago I was in a situation a lot like this one, 'cept I was the schmuck on the floor." He tilted his head, pondering his options. "Guess now's my chance to try it from the other side. Stand up."

Matt hesitated until Guerrero gestured impatiently with the gun, then climbed awkwardly to his feet, favoring his wounded leg. Guerrero, still pointing the gun, circled behind Matt and then brought the butt of the weapon down on the back of his head, striking the sweet spot which caused the man to instantly collapse. Once satisfied the guy wasn't getting up anytime soon, Guerrero turned to Riley.

She was huddled up against the door, eyes wide, face tear-streaked. She looked like a cornered animal, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. Guerrero approached her slowly, his left arm outstretched. He kept his other hand, which still held the gun, down at his side and a little behind him, partially blocking the weapon from her view. He carefully put his arm around the shivering woman and pulled her into a gentle, if hesitant, embrace. Riley sobbed into his shoulder.

"You're okay," he murmured. When he felt her tremors subside he drew back to look her in the eye. "Pack a bag. We gotta leave now."

Riley sniffled, wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe. "Okay," she said. Her expression took on a guilty cast.

Guerrero cupped her face. "Hey. Don't beat yourself up about this. I didn't see it either, 'til he went for his gun."

Riley nodded. "'Kay." She shuffled towards her bedroom, giving Matt's unconscious body a wide berth.

Guerrero rummaged around until he found a roll of duct tape stashed away in a junk drawer. He used pretty much the entire roll to bind Matt's arms and legs. The bullet wound had mostly clotted by then, its seepage reduced to a slow trickle.

Meanwhile, Riley managed to pull herself together enough to throw on some clothes and was in the process of cramming whatever she deemed essential into her only suitcase, a hideous old green thing that used to belong to her father. She threw in a few changes of clothes and underwear, toiletries, a couple of photo albums, including the small one devoted to pictures of Ethan. Her thoughts raced with images of nonsensical items she couldn't possibly bring: her favorite coffee mug, those library books she needed to return, her pillow. She _did_ add her bathrobe to the the suitcase, despite the fact that it was still damp. Some part of Riley knew she would need the comfort of something familiar. She also added, at the last moment, a small box which she tucked in amongst the rest of the suitcase's contents with care.

She had to sit on the case to get it to close. Once the latches clicked in place she dragged it off the bed and lugged it out into the living room, grunting with effort. She saw Matt trussed up on the floor. He lay on his side, his head tilted at an uncomfortable angle. Riley paused, set the suitcase down, and went to grab a cushion from the sofa. She positioned the cushion under Matt's head like a pillow.

Guerrero had gone into the bedroom to get his shoes and jacket. When he came back out and saw what Riley ad done with the cushion, he had to bite his tongue to keep from making a snide remark, a remarkable show of restraint on his part.

"We gotta go," he said impatiently.

Riley nodded and picked up her overloaded suitcase. Guerrero moved to help her with it, but she shook her head. "I got it."

He shrugged, opened the door, checked to make sure the coast was clear. He beckoned Riley to follow and headed down the stairs, then out the main door. Outside, night had fallen. The cars in the parking spaces gleamed in the dim light of the distant streetlamps, resembling the carapaces of gigantic beetles. Guerrero led Riley to his Cadillac and opened the trunk for her to load her suitcase into. That done, they quickly got into the car. Guerrero started to put the key into the ignition and suddenly froze. "Shit!"

"What?" Riley asked, anxious.

"I left my damn phone in the apartment." He opened the door and started to get out of the car.

Riley tried to grab his arm. "Don't-"

"It'll only take a sec. Just...hunker down and wait. I'll be right back."

Riley bit her lip. All sorts of horrible scenarios occurred to her; visions of faceless attackers dragging her from the car once Guerrero was out of sight, Matt breaking free of his bonds and lying in wait. She trembled.

Guerrero saw her growing fear and kicked himself. He had no idea how to handle this. What the hell did normal guys do when their girlfriends freaked out? He leaned in and stroked her face. "It'll be okay," he said, hoping it came out as reassuring.

It seemed to work, a little. Riley took a deep breath and nodded. Guerrero got out, shut the door and activated the car alarm, then jogged back to the apartment building. Riley slouched down in the seat and hugged her knees, waiting.

Minutes later, Guerrero exited Riley's apartment for the last time, shutting the door behind him. As he headed for the stairs, he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed a number. After two rings, a male voice answered, _"Howie's Cleaning Service."_

"It's Guerrero."

_"Hey, G! Been a while. How's the life?"_

"Business as usual, dude. Got a mess I need cleaned up pronto."

_"We talkin' general cleanup or sterilization?"_

"Sterilization. The cleaner, the better."

_"Sure thing. I'll send my best team on over. What's the address?"_

Guerrero gave him Riley's address, then hung up after a brief goodbye. In a little while a custodial crew would arrive in a nondescript utility van. By morning, all trace of what happened in Riley's apartment would be erased. Anyone who looked would just assume she was off on vacation or something. With her solitary lifestyle, it would take weeks or even months before someone realized she wasn't coming back.

As he opened the driver's side door of his El-Do, the dome light revealed Riley's relieved expression. Guerrero climbed in, fastened his seatbelt, started the engine, and pulled out into traffic without a word. He planned on driving throughout the night to put as much distance as possible between them and the incident they'd just left. They drove in silence for some time, Riley staring out the passenger window, lost in thought. Guerrero let her be, glad for the excuse not to have to offer his woefully inadequate comfort. This sure as hell wasn't what he'd imagined when he asked Riley to leave with him. The happiness they'd enjoyed less than an hour ago seemed like another lifetime. Riley's expression reminded him of the faces he once saw in an African refugee camp. Now _there_ was a nasty bit of business. It was the last job he ever did that involved kids.

"Guerrero?"

He glanced at her; Riley's gaze was still fixated on the passing scenery. "What?"

She bit her lip before asking, "You didn't really forget your phone, did you?"

The look he gave her this time lasted several beats. He returned his attention to the road, his face devoid of expression.

Riley's chin began to tremble. "He was my friend."

"He would've killed you," he responded quietly.

"I know." She sighed, wiped her eyes.

Guerrero's hands tightened on the steering wheel. She figured it out. Now she knew what kind of man he was. Not just in an intellectual sense, but the cold reality. He'd known this was bound to happen at some point. He just wished they could've had more time.

A light touch on his arm startled him from his dark thoughts. He watched as Riley's hand slid down to rest atop his on the steering wheel. Her fingers gently worked his grip free from the wheel, then she clasped her hand in his.

"Thank you for not doing it in front of me," she murmured.

Guerrero's throat tightened. He squeezed her hand.


	10. Coping Mechanism

**A/N:** I tried to give Riley a believable emotional response to everything she'd just been through. It pretty much boiled down to how _I _might behave in a traumatic situation. If that comes across as wimpy or Mary Sue-ish, then so be it.

P.S. Regarding SpadesJade's question about where Riley lives, I never really made up my mind about that, other than that she's not in California. I'll leave it up to your imaginations.

**Disclaimer: I have not now, nor have I ever owned any part of _Human Target_ or its characters.**

They drove all night and well into the next day, stopping only to top off the El-Do's tank and grab some crappy pre-packaged sandwiches which they ate on the road. As late afternoon rolled around, Guerrero decided they'd gone far enough and pulled into the nearest out-of-the-way motel.

Riley jerked awake from a heavy doze at the feel of Guerrero's hand on her shoulder. "Got us a room," he said quietly. Riley blinked lethargically and slowly got out of the car. Her face was expressionless, her eyes glassy from more than just sleep. Guerrero had seen that look many times in his career; people whose secure, humdrum lives were suddenly turned upside down often couldn't cope and simply shut down. He'd always considered people like that little better than cattle milling around in a slaughterhouse, too meek to do anything but wait for the killing blow. It upset him to see Riley in this state.

He dug his overnight bag out of the El-Do's trunk, slung it over his shoulder, then grabbed Riley's suitcase. The woman trailed after him as he headed for their room. It wasn't bad. Most family-owned motels were either quaintly old-fashioned or completely rundown. This place, thankfully, was the former. They even used actual keys in the locks instead of key cards. He unlocked the door to their room and ushered Riley inside. While he set their bags down, Riley took in their surroundings with a listless air. The walls of the room were covered in a light blue patterned wallpaper with a couple of seascape paintings for decoration. Furnishings consisted of a small table with two matching chairs, a light blue upholstered couch, and a TV bolted to a credenza. The room also contained two beds, each large enough to comfortably hold two people, provided they didn't mind cozying up. A faint line appeared between Riley's eyebrows at the sight of them. "This all they had?"

Guerrero exhaled through his nose, not looking at her. "No."

So many implications in one little word.

"Oh." Riley's expression didn't change. They might as well have been talking about the weather. She shuffled over to the couch and sat down.

Guerrero sighed, frustrated by her distance and his inability to draw her out. He dug his keys out of his pocket and headed for the door. "Saw a restaurant not too far from here. I'm gonna get us something to eat." He paused at the door, turned to look at her. "Don't open this door for anyone. Understand?"

She nodded, eyes riveted to the beige carpet. For a brief moment Guerrero was tempted to run over, grab her by the shoulders and shake her out of her daze. Instead, he left the room, slamming the door behind him. There soon came the muffled sound of a car engine revving and fading into the distance.

Riley sat unmoving for several minutes. In order to cope with the trauma of the night before, her mind had withdrawn into numbness. Now that she was no longer on the move, the numbness gradually started to fade. Her shoulders hitched, her breathing grew heavy and ragged. Cracks in the dam. Then, with a convulsive sob, Riley doubled over and finally allowed herself the breakdown she'd spent the entire day holding back. It was the sort of cry one could only have while alone. Not the artistically tragic kind they showed on TV or in the movies, but the ugly, cathartic kind that seemed to go on for ages: loud, heaving sobs; snotty nose; face contorted into grotesque expressions. When it finally slowed to the occasional hiccuping gasp, Riley stood up and tottered to the bathroom. She felt light-headed, as if coming down from a fever. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror reinforced that impression. Her face was a blotchy mess with red, puffy eyes. Riley sniffed, blew her nose on some toilet paper. She ran the cold water in the sink and splashed her face, then patted herself dry with a thin motel towel. The cold water helped reduce the swelling, a little, but she still looked like an emotional wreck. In truth, she felt much better than she had a few minutes ago, like the trauma had been purged from her system. Now that she got her outburst out of the way, she felt better able to cope with what happened. She'd gone through a similar experience after her father died. All through the funeral she hadn't shed a tear, then once she got home and away from the well-wishers she cried for an hour. Sometimes having someone around to offer comfort hindered more than they helped.

She heard the door open and the rustle of a plastic bag.

"It's me," Guerrero called. He set the plastic shopping bag on the room's two-person table, removed his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. Riley stepped out of the bathroom. One glance was all it took for Guerrero to know that she'd been crying. He also noticed that she seemed more with it than before he'd left, which came as a relief to him.

"What did you get?" she asked. Her voice sounded raw.

Guerrero pulled a couple of styrofoam containers out of the bag. "Got us a couple of burgers from a diner a few blocks away." He placed the containers on either side of the table, then sat down in one of the chairs.

Riley lowered herself into the chair across from him and opened the container in front of her. Burgers and fries, an American staple. She picked up the sandwich and took a bite out of it. She seemed to have found her appetite, judging from the way she made her food disappear.

Guerrero dug into his own meal. Neither of them felt the desire to break the silence while they ate. It was after the empty boxes were disposed of that Guerrero sat them down on the couch to discuss their options.

"First," he said, "I need to know where Ethan and his parents live so I can send somebody to check on them."

Riley nodded. "They live in California."

Guerrero tensed. "California?"

"Yeah. In San Francisco. What?" she asked as he covered his face. When he withdrew his hands she saw his face bore an ironic grin.

"Dude, _I _live in San Francisco."

Riley blinked. "Since when?"

"Since after we met. That guy I told you about who quit before I did, he started his own business there. I work with him sometimes."

"Oh." At any other time, she would have laughed at such a twist of fate. But it was too soon for humor.

"This sure as hell makes things easier. What's the family's address?"

Riley told him. Guerrero hit the speed dial on his phone. It was answered on the first ring.

_"Hey, man,"_ Chance's voice greeted him, _"How'd the reunion go?"_

"Great, 'til somebody tried to kill us."

A pause, then, _"Is Riley okay?"_

"Fine, all things considered." He glanced at Riley as if to reassure himself. "I need a favor, dude."

_"Name it."_

"I need you to check on my kid. Get this, dude. Him and his adoptive parents live in Frisco." Guerrero told him the address, a middle-class suburb on the outskirts of the city. "Whoever hired the guy to take me and Riley out probably has somebody watching the kid. Might even be posing as a neighbor."

_"If anyone's there, I'll find them," _Chance assured him, _"I'll watch over your kid as long as it takes."_

Guerrero let out a breath. "I owe you one, bro."

_"Don't mention it. See ya, Guerrero."_

"Later, dude." Guerrero ended the call. He turned to Riley. "It's okay, now. Chance is the best there is. He won't let anything happen to Ethan."

Riley released her pent-up breath in a rush. "Thank god."

Guerrero shifted, his body language hesitant. His blue eyes turned aside for a moment, then returned to meet Riley's. "There's something else we need to talk about," he told her, "I can set you up with a new identity. It's one of my specialties. I can find you a new name, new town, a new job if you want."

Riley frowned in confusion. "I thought...I thought I was gonna be living with you."

"Yeah, well," he ran his fingers through his hair, "That was before all this shit happened. I figured maybe..." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Maybe you changed your mind about that."

Riley stared at him, open-mouthed. Suddenly the separate beds made more sense. Guerrero wasn't angry with her for asking him to spare Matt's life; he thought she was angry with him. She was about to say something, but Guerrero abruptly stood. "Take a while to think about it," he said, as if it didn't matter to him either way. Riley wasn't fooled, though. She saw the way he avoided her with his eyes.

Guerrero picked up his overnight bag from where it sat by the door and put it on the table. He rummaged inside it until he found his toothbrush and paste. "I'm gonna hit the sack," he mumbled, headed for the bathroom. It occurred to Riley then that he must have been exhausted. He hadn't slept at all since they left her apartment, well over sixteen hours ago, whereas Riley at least managed to grab a few naps along the way.

She rose from the couch and went to stand in the bathroom's doorway, watching him brush his teeth. He must have noticed her there, but he showed no reaction. Riley stared at his angular profile. There was a massive bruise on his jaw from where Matt must've punched him during the fight. Thinking of Matt filled her with sadness, both from his betrayal and his death at Guerrero's hands. Guerrero told her not to blame herself, but how could she not? She'd been friends with Matt for months, had slept with him more than once. She'd trusted and confided in him, and all that time he'd been lying in wait to kill her and Guerrero. She should have seen it, should have known somehow. But she hadn't, and now Matt was dead. And even worse, Guerrero obviously thought she blamed him for killing her friend. Perhaps she should, but she didn't. She knew he did it to protect her.

Guerrero rinsed the toothpaste from his mouth, then left the bathroom, sliding past Riley without looking at her. Riley bit her lip. She turned, went to her suitcase to get her own toothbrush, and returned to the vacated bathroom. She was tired as well, from the long journey on the road as well as her earlier sob-fest. Once she was finished she stepped out into the room to find all the lights switched off, save for a bedside lamp. Its dim glow revealed Guerrero lying in one of the room's two beds, his back to her. His discarded clothes lay in a heap on the floor. Riley stared at him for a moment, then started to remove her own clothing until she wore only her shirt and panties. She approached her chosen bed.

Guerrero felt the mattress shift beneath him and turned over to see Riley drawing the covers over herself. "What're you doing?"

"I wanna sleep with you," she said, hardly above a whisper.

Her words brought a pain to his chest. _She's just afraid to be alone,_ he told himself, even though he wanted to believe it was more than that.

Riley switched off the lamp, plunging the room into the pitch darkness only an anonymous hotel room could achieve, then snuggled up against Guerrero, her back to his front. After a moment's hesitation, she felt his arm go around her waist.

"Next time you should get us a king sized bed," she murmured, "I've always wanted to sleep in a king size." She heard Guerrero take an unsteady breath. She reached down to where his hand rested against her stomach and interlaced her fingers with his.

"Riley-"

"Shh. Go to sleep."


	11. Speaking Truthfully

**Disclaimer: _Human Target_. Not mine, never will be.**

**The song lyrics are taken from _California Dreamin'_ by The Mamas and the Papas. I don't own them, either. The lyrics, I mean. Or the band. You know what I mean.**

Guerrero had long ago trained himself to rouse quickly when something was off. He did so now, alert to the slightest hint of danger. His internal sense of time told him dawn was still hours away. He opened his eyes, but all he could make out in the blackness was half-formed shadows. His ears picked up the familiar sounds of distress, faint whimpers and moans. They originated beside him.

"Riley?"

She didn't respond. It occurred to him that she might be having a nightmare. He wondered what he was supposed to do. Wake her or leave her alone? A sudden agonized cry decided it. He gripped her shoulder and tried to shake her without being too rough about it. Riley let out a sharp scream and flailed, the back of her hand smacking Guerrero's ear. He grabbed her wrist and pinned it against her.

"Riley! Take it easy. You were dreaming."

Her struggles ceased. For a moment all Guerrero could hear was her breathing. Then she started to cry. Great.

Riley buried her face against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Guerrero put his arms around her. He felt inadequate to the task of comforting her. Guerrero was a doer. He needed to act, to figure out some way of fixing the problem. But there was no way to fix a person's emotions. All he could do was be there for her, and that didn't seem anywhere near good enough.

After a while, though, Riley's weeping subsided. She drew back just enough to wipe her eyes with her hand. It was still too dark to see anything, but she felt the familiar contours of Guerrero's body against hers, his slender arms around her, and smelled his distinct scent. She pressed her hand against his chest to feel the steady beat of his heart.

"You must think I'm pathetic," she said quietly.

The words startled him. "For what?" he asked, "Acting human?"

"Being weak."

Guerrero moved one hand to stroke her hair. "Trust me, you're handling this way better than most people would."

"But not like you," she said, "It's like you shrug everything off. Like it doesn't even affect you."

"Yeah, well, I've had a lotta practice shutting down the parts of me that feel anything. Anybody who leads my kind of life learns to do that pretty damn quick or winds up dead even quicker."

Her fingertips traveled blindly over his face, tracing the planes of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, across his thin lips. Reassuring herself of his reality. "I dreamed you were killed," she murmured thickly, "I dreamed Matt shot you."

Guerrero had to admit he felt a slight thrill at the realization that the idea of his death upset her so. "It was just a dream."

"I'm sorry I didn't see the truth about him. I put you in danger."

"I'm always in danger, dude," he replied, flippant, "Goes with the territory."

She took hold of his arm in a tight grasp. "I don't hate you for what you did," she said urgently, "I know you think I do, but I don't. I don't want a new identity and a new life somewhere else. I wanna stay with you."

Guerrero felt a strange sort of pain at her words. He wanted to believe they were true, but hard experience taught him not to be hopeful. "I'm not a good person, Riley," he said in a low voice, "I lost count of how many people I've killed. Some of them were families, kids. Some of them I tortured first, or made 'em watch while I tortured their loved ones." The darkness made it easier to say these things, like the inside of a priest's confessional. There were no facial cues to react to, and therefore no urge to hold back. He could admit to her things he would never mention in the light. "I don't want you to think I'm some noble Robin Hood type and then find out the truth about me later. You wanna know how I killed Matt?"

"I-"

"I cut his throat with a kitchen knife and watched him bleed out."

Riley choked. The sound made Guerrero grit his teeth. She would move to the other bed now. In the morning her face would show the same look he saw throughout his life; horror, disgust. He drew his arms away from her and rolled onto his back, waiting for the mattress to shift, signaling her absence from the bed. Instead, Riley's voice whispered to him, "Do you want me to leave you?"

There was only the dark around him. No reason to hide. "No," the word came out as a croak.

"I don't wanna leave you," Riley whispered. Her questing hands touched his face. She brought her mouth to his, kissed him softly, then rested her head against his shoulder.

It was some time before Guerrero trusted himself to speak. "Well," he cleared his throat, "I never accused you of being smart."

Riley uttered a faint laugh. "And I never accused you of being Robin Hood."

Guerrero snorted. "Naw. That's Chance's job." Which, he supposed, made Winston Little John. Guerrero smirked at the thought and made a mental note to use that nickname at the next opportunity.

Riley sobered at her next thought. "D'you think Ethan's okay?"

"Absolutely," he answered without hesitation, "I wouldn't ask just anybody to watch out for our kid. Chance is the best there is."

"You trust him that much?"

"Yeah. He's kinda one of the only real friends I've got," he murmured.

Riley snuggled closer. "Then I trust him, too."

Guerrero listened to the sounds of her breathing getting slower, falling back asleep. He turned his head to take in the scent of her hair. He smiled. She still wanted to be with him. Damned if he knew why, but he wasn't about to argue the point. There was still the chance she might change her mind in the light of day, but for now at least, she was still his. All the tension drained from his body at this knowledge, and within moments he too was asleep.

The rest of the night passed without incident. When Guerrero woke to the sound of his phone ringing, early morning sunlight peeked through the gaps in the motel room's thick curtains. He sat up, careful not to wake Riley, and picked up his phone from the nightstand. He squinted myopically at the caller ID, saw Chance's name on the screen. Some of the fog lifted from his brain and his heart beat a little faster. He rose from the bed and hurried into the bathroom so as not to disturb Riley with his conversation. He shut the bathroom door, hit send. "It's 7a.m., dude, and I got zero caffeine in me. Stick to small words."

_"I got him."_

Guerrero's heart rate increased even more. "The bastard stalking my kid?"

_"Yep." _There was no mistaking the smugness in his friend's voice. _"Nabbed him about an hour ago. He was posing as a gardener for one of the neighbors."_

"Did you find out who hired him?"

_"Sorry. Guy said he worked through intermediaries. All he knows is that he was supposed to stay close to the boy until he got the order to terminate. Or until you showed up, whichever came first."_

"Same as Riley's," Guerrero concluded. He ran his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. "Okay, hang onto him for me. I wanna talk to him myself."

There was a slight hesitation on the other end; Chance was familiar with some of Guerrero's methods for getting answers. _"Okay."_

"And keep watching the kid's place in case there's more of 'em."

_"Don't worry, man. I won't let him out of my sight."_

"Thanks. See ya in a few hours, dude." He ended the call. His free hand went to the doorknob, but he reconsidered at the persistent call of nature. After using the toilet and washing his hands, he decided to go the whole hog and brushed his teeth. After that, he stepped out into the room and saw that Riley was still asleep. He let her be for the moment, moving silently as he dug out a change of clothes. Once dressed, he knelt by the side of the bed.

"Riley," he murmured. He brought his hand to her cheek. Though her eyes stayed closed, she smiled at his touch. Seeing this brought back the recollection of their talk the night before. Guerrero swallowed, then gave into the impulse to kiss her. God, he loved kissing her, morning breath and all. She responded by putting her arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. When they finally parted she opened her eyes and grinned at him. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Guerrero smiled, "I got a call from Chance. He caught the guy who was watching Ethan."

Riley's smile widened in relief. "So, he's okay?"

Guerrero nodded. "I'm gonna use the guy to find out who's behind all this. We need to head out soon if we wanna reach Frisco by this evening."

"Okay." Riley kissed him again, her arms tightening around him. Guerrero's hand slid under the blanket and glided over the skin of her thigh, moving upward until he got to her hip and encountered her panties. He forced himself to end the kiss. "You really should get up now."

Riley nodded, smiling, but her arms remained around his neck and Guerrero's fingers somehow hooked themselves under the waistband of her panties. He tugged them downward, Riley arching her hips to let them slide off more easily.

"Hell with it," Guerrero rasped, "A few minutes won't make any difference."

Riley laughed and threw the covers aside to reveal her half-naked form. Guerrero stood, fumbling with his jeans. He pushed them down around his knees and climbed onto the bed, settling himself between her legs which wrapped themselves around his waist. Guerrero slid into her with a groan; he still wasn't accustomed to not having a latex barrier between them. The way her inner muscles squeezed around him was almost too much. He moved his hips as little as possible, the short thrusts teasing and drawing out the experience. He opened his eyes to watch the changing expressions on Riley's face. One moment contorted in a grimace, the next relaxed, her lips parted. At one point she bit her lip and that tiny action almost did him in.

"Look at me," he said in a husky whisper.

Riley opened her eyes and stared straight into his. Guerrero could almost swear he saw a spark in them the instant before she climaxed. He followed seconds later. While they came down from their orgasms Guerrero rested his forehead against Riley's. Neither of them said a word. They just smiled and listened to their slowing breaths.

They both let out unhappy sighs as Guerrero withdrew his softened member from her. He stood reluctantly and pulled up his jeans. "We need to go."

Riley nodded, got up from the bed, and headed for the bathroom. Her bare ass peeked out from beneath her shirt, the sight of which tempted Guerrero to grab her and fling her back onto the bed for round two. But they'd wasted enough time. They needed to get back to San Francisco quickly, and Guerrero needed to have a chat with the asshole Chance had caught.

He and Riley checked out of the motel minutes later. They made a slight detour to pick up some donuts at a place with a drive-thru, then hit the open road.

Riley munched on a chocolate-with-sprinkles and stared out at the passing scenery with interest. "Never been this far from home before," she remarked around a mouthful of pastry.

"You weren't missing much," Guerrero said. He rummaged in the white paper bag with one hand and pulled out a blueberry-glazed. "It's all pretty much the same. Gas stations, grease-pit diners, souvenir shops hocking crappy plastic merchandise." He took a bite of his donut.

Riley saw a huge aluminum-sided barn with black hand-painted words spanning the angular roof. "'God Is Watching.' Hm. Good to know."

Guerrero smirked. "Apparently watching's all he's doing."

"You believe in God?" Riley asked, surprised.

"Sometimes. Depends on how pissed off I am."

Riley smiled. "The angrier you are, the less you believe?"

"Other way around, dude. The angrier I am, the _more_ I believe. It's nice to have somebody to blame shit on, y'know?"

Riley shook her head in amusement. "You're such a character."

Guerrero swallowed, took another bite. "Character's usually not the first word people use to describe me."

"Really? What do they usually call you?"

"Oh, y'know," he shrugged, "Psycho, freak, that kinda thing." His tone was light, but Riley heard the serious undercurrent.

Her expression hardened. "Well, fuck 'em. What do they know?"

Guerrero choked on a mouthful of donut and damn near swerved his Cadillac off the road. Riley clapped both hands over her mouth and strained against the seatbelt as she doubled over in a fit of giggles.

"Jesus!" Guerrero coughed, "Since when d'you use foul language?"

She shrugged. "Guess you're rubbing off on me."

"Aw, man," Guerrero chuckled, "We're in trouble."

It felt good to shove aside their worries for a while and talk about inconsequential things. When they passed the state border and Riley saw the sign welcoming them to The Golden State, she started to hum. It took Guerrero a second to recognize the tune.

_All the leaves are brown_

_And the sky is gray_

_I've been for a walk_

_On a winter's day_

_I'd be safe and warm_

_If I was in L.A._

_California dreamin'_

_On such a winter's day_

"Not much longer, now," Guerrero remarked after she fell silent.

Riley shifted in her seat. She felt ambivalent over reaching their destination. On one hand, she would finally see her new home with Guerrero. On the other, there was still the unresolved issue over who wanted them dead. The danger wasn't over just because Guerrero and his friend managed to foil their enemy's initial plans.

For just a moment, Riley wished for her old, stable life again. But she quickly shook off the notion. She'd made her decision and chose Guerrero over certain safety. She had to trust that he had everything in hand and the danger would soon be taken care of. At least until the next danger surfaced. The corner of Riley's mouth twitched in a sardonic grin. Whatever else could be said about this new life of hers, she wouldn't describe it as dull.

Guerrero flicked the turn signal and took the next exit that led to a gas station. The El-Do needed fuel, and they both needed to stretch their legs. He pulled up next to an available pump and killed the engine, then he and Riley got out of the car.

Riley shook her legs to work out the kinks. She looked over at Guerrero, who was swiping a credit card at the pump. She idly wondered what name was on the card. "I think I'll look around inside," she said.

Guerrero nodded absently.

Riley headed for the convenience store/souvenir shop. A miniature cowbell jangled when she pushed through the door. The place seemed to be doing a fair bit of business. A fat woman behind the counter paused in ringing up a customer's purchase to call out, "Hi there! Lemme know if you need help with anything, hon."

Riley suppressed a wince. She hated when strangers threw endearments at her. What was wrong with miss or ma'am? "Thanks," she said and turned to wander down the aisles. The souvenirs they had on display were as unremarkable as expected. A rack of postcards, mini collectable plates and spoons (dishes you couldn't eat with; talk about pointless), puffy hats with trite phrases written on them, dinky plastic snow-domes that were sure to leak at the first jostle. Riley sighed. She came to a rack bearing a few dozen hanging ornaments. One of them, she had to admit, looked kind of pretty. It was a painted glass oval about the size of her palm with an image of the Golden Gate bridge on it. Four thin metal bars dangled from the bottom on lengths of plastic line. She ran her finger across them and they jingled.

"Ready to go?"

She turned and saw Guerrero standing in the aisle. He had a bottle of Pepsi in his hand.

"Sure, uh," she pointed at the bottle, "Could you get me one of those? I wanna use the restroom before we leave."

Guerrero arched an eyebrow. "A gas station restroom? Might be safer to hover instead of sit, dude."

Riley smirked. "Duly noted." She squeezed past him and found the door marked LADIES. It wasn't _quite_ as nasty as she'd feared, but she still took Guerrero's advice about not making contact with the seat. After, she gave her hands a thorough scrub. At least there was plenty of soap in the dispenser.

Guerrero was waiting for her at the car, leaning against the door with his ankles crossed. They both climbed in and Guerrero promptly started the engine and headed for the on-ramp.

Riley picked up the shopping bag between them and reached inside for her soda. Her fingers brushed against something odd and she frowned, casting a puzzled glance at Guerrero. He kept his eyes on the road, his posture relaxed. Riley turned her attention to the bag again and withdrew the unexpected item. The ornament she'd seen among the souvenirs emerged from the plastic sack with a musical chime. Riley's mouth opened in surprise. "What...?"

Guerrero shrugged. "Thought you'd like it." He turned his eyes towards her for a brief moment and winked.

Riley was touched. She leaned over and planted a lingering kiss on his cheek. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Jeez. It was only, like, a couple of bucks," Guerrero said, acting like it was nothing, "If I'd known you were that easy I woulda gotten you ten of them."

"One's plenty," Riley chuckled, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. People might think I'm losing my edge if this got out."

She rolled her eyes, still grinning. "Don't worry. Your little show of affection will be our secret."

"Good." The corners of Guerrero's mouth quirked up.

Riley held the ornament up to her window to let the sunlight shine through the painted glass. The Golden Gate's image glowed a fiery orange against the blue background. Riley smiled.


	12. Holding a Grudge

**Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own _Human Target _or any of that fabulous show's awesome characters.**

Winston knew something was up long before Guerrero arrived. Chance had gone out the previous day after a phone call from his notorious friend and hadn't been back since. When Winston called him on his cell to ask what was going on, Chance simply said he was helping Guerrero with something and would Winston mind feeding Carmine?

Winston poured a generous scoop of Dog Chow into Carmine's dish and watched the hefty rottweiler gobble it down. "A favor for Guerrero," the former cop grumbled, "What the hell could that be? I know Chance has too many scruples to get involved in that maniac's shadier deals, so what does that leave?"

Carmine munched away, oblivious.

"Nuthin' good, I'm betting," Winston answered himself. The familiar rattle of the elevator distracted him from his troubled musings. He dropped the dog food scoop back into the bag and went to see who was coming. He was startled to see it was Guerrero, and he had a woman with him. Normally the words "Guerrero" and "woman" in the same sentence brought to mind images of scantily clad, unnaturally buxom ladies of questionable repute who slinked their way into men's lives and got out shortly after with whatever valuables they could cram into their purses. _This _person, however, was definitely from the opposite end of the spectrum. Middle-aged, average looks, dressed in loose and somewhat frumpy clothes. She took in her surroundings with timid curiosity.

"Hey, dude." Guerrero lugged a battered old suitcase out of the elevator and set it on the floor. He sauntered over to the woman and made the introductions. "Riley, this is Winston. Winston, Riley."

"Hi." Riley offered a shy smile.

"Hello," Winston responded, wary but not unfriendly. "Uh, would you excuse us for a moment, please?" He beckoned Guerrero aside. The smaller man gave Riley a half-shrug and followed Winston to the opposite end of the room. Winston leaned close and asked in a murmur, "What the hell's goin' on?"

"Nothin', dude. Just a little side project of mine."

"'Side project'?"

Guerrero nodded. "Yeah. No biggie. But I need to ask you a favor."

Winston's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What kind of _favor_?" he drawled.

"I need you to let Riley stay here for a while, just 'til I get some stuff taken care of."

"You want me to babysit your..." He couldn't even think of an appropriate word. Client? Friend? Captive?

"C'mon, dude. I do favors for you 'n' Chance all the time."

"Those aren't favors!" Winston protested, "We _pay_ you to do those things."

"Chance already agreed to help me out with this," Guerrero told him, "All I'm askin' is that you keep Riley company for a few hours."

"What the hell for? She looks plenty old enough to take care of herself."

Guerrero frowned in annoyance. "Look, she's kinda gotten herself into a bind. Pissed off the wrong people. I'm just helpin' her out."

"You," Winston deadpanned, "Helping."

"Hey, I can be helpful, dude. I _was _a boyscout, y'know."

"Yeah, I know," Winston rolled his eyes, "Order of the Spear-"

"Arrow," Guerrero corrected him, "You and Chance are always badgering me about doing something worthwhile without any expectation of personal gain. Well, this is me doing a good deed."

"And this is me not believing one damn word you just said."

Guerrero sighed, shook his head. The picture of disappointment. "Fine. Guess I'll let Riley know she's on her own while I go work on her problem. She's pretty smart, she'll probably last 'til morning."

"Oh, for god's sake." Winston pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, she can stay. Just don't expect me to believe you don't have any ulterior motives, 'cause I know you too well."

Guerrero grinned. "Sweet. Lemme tell her the good news and I'll be on my way."

The former cop watched as Guerrero went over to talk to the woman, who'd spent the time he and Winston conversed pacing nervously with her arms crossed. She visibly relaxed in the smaller man's presence, which Winston found intriguing. Normally, people had the opposite reaction when Guerrero came near them. Winston stared, his curiosity growing.

Riley couldn't hide her anxiety at the knowledge that she and Guerrero were about to be separated. He tried to reassure her. "It'll just be a few hours. Overnight, tops. Nobody 'll come after you here and Winston's...capable."

Riley's mouth twitched in a faint smile. "Capable?"

Guerrero rolled his eyes. "Okay, he's better than capable, but don't let on I said so. Gotta keep him on his toes." He leaned in to catch her eyes, which had drifted aside in worry. "Don't fret. I'll find the guy behind all this and you and Ethan will be safe."

"It's not us I'm worried about," Riley said. Her dark eyes stared into his.

Guerrero smirked and responded with casual bravado, "You don't need to make a fuss over me, dude. Trust me, I know how to take care of myself."

Riley wished she could embrace him, but Guerrero told her earlier that Winston was unaware of their relationship and of Ethan, and Guerrero preferred to keep it that way. So, instead of an embrace, Riley swallowed and murmured, "Come back soon."

Guerrero met her stare for a long moment. No one had ever given him that look before, that look that said she desperately wanted him to stay, and not for the protection he could offer.

Hell with it.

"C'mere." He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Riley placed her hands on his shoulders and brought her mouth to his.

Winston's own mouth fell open at the sight of Guerrero kissing her, the tenderness of the act completely at odds with what the retired cop knew about the former killer-for-hire.

"Thought you wanted to keep us a secret," Riley whispered once the kiss had ended.

Guerrero smiled. "Never could pass up the chance to freak Winston out." He planted one last peck on her lips, then strode away towards the elevator, hands in his pockets. "Later, dude," he called over his shoulder.

Winston gawped at his retreating back.

* * *

One quick call to Chance's phone later and Guerrero was on his way to where Ethan's would-be-assassin was stashed; a run-down bungalow in what used to be an upscale neighborhood gone to seed. Guerrero had to give his friend credit, whatever misgivings he might have about Guerrero's interrogation methods, he chose an ideal place. What neighbors there were ran towards the types of people who'd learned long ago to ignore whatever disturbing sounds they might hear, lest their own life expectancies drop significantly. Guerrero found the man tied to a chair with plastic zip-ties and copious amounts of duct tape. A wide strip of tape across his mouth served as a gag.

Guerrero entered the abandoned house with a casual air, backpack slung over one shoulder. He stopped before the bound man and leaned down to meet his gaze. "Know who I am, dude?"

The man's stare was baleful with a touch of trepidation. Guerrero smirked. "Course you do. You were supposed to kill me if I ever decided to pay the boy a visit. Can't help but wonder how you were planning to do it. Were you gonna try something clever or just shoot me on sight?"

Silence.

"Oh, right. My bad." Guerrero savagely ripped the strip of tape away from the man's mouth. The man winced, but didn't make a sound. Guerrero unslung his backpack, setting it on the floor and crouching down to rummage in it. "When I asked the guy at Riley's place who hired him, he said he didn't know. Said the client communicated using go-betweens. You fed the same story to my friend, the guy who caught you." He glanced up at his captive, who remained stubbornly silent. Guerrero continued in a conversational tone, "Now, you might've been telling the truth about that." He straightened, clutching an object he'd taken from his pack. "But, then again, you might be lying. I didn't really have time to question the other guy as thoroughly as I woulda liked. But you and me..."

The man's eyes widened, staring at the clawed hammer dangling from Guerrero's right hand in a loose grip.

Guerrero hefted the tool, his grin feral. "...We got all night."

* * *

Chance slouched in the driver's seat of his car, staring at the picturesque little house with its perfectly manicured lawn. He'd been watching the place for hours. Good thing this was the kind of sleepy, trusting neighborhood where people didn't take note of suspicious individuals apparently on a stakeout. Chance saw the boy more than once throughout his vigil, playing on the front lawn with two rambunctious dogs or pedaling around on his bright red tricycle. The five-year-old was small for his age—not surprising, considering who his father was. When at play, he threw himself into it wholeheartedly, enjoying the simplicity of his life as only a child was capable of, but which only an adult could appreciate with hindsight. Chance wondered if Guerrero ever possessed that kind of innocence. Hell, he wondered if _he_ ever possessed that kind of innocence. If so, it was a lifetime ago. They'd experienced far too much from life's harsher realities since then.

Chance's phone rang. He picked it up from where he'd lain it on the passenger seat, saw Guerrero's name on the screen. "Hey."

_"Hey, dude,"_ the habitual greeting was uttered cheerily, _"We lucked out. The guy you caught doesn't know for sure, but he's got a real strong suspicion who hired him."_

"Good to know," Chance said, trying not to imagine the scene at the other end of the line. "Guess your next order of business is to pay the client a visit."

_"Yep. I'd like you to come with, dude. I could use the backup."_

"You don't want me to keep on the lookout here?" Chance asked, surprised.

Guerrero snorted. His voice dripped with scorn. _"The asshole doesn't know his thugs have been compromised. Idiot only had 'em call in once a week, and they're not scheduled to make their next call 'til tomorrow. Getting' the drop on __him's gonna be child's play."_

"'Kay, then. Where do you wanna meet?"

Evening transitioned into nightfall by the time he and Guerrero rendezvoused at a nondescript house in a nondescript, lower middle-class neighborhood. The interior lights were on and every once in a while a silhouette was seen crossing the windows.

Chance and Guerrero stood side by side across the street, taking it all in. Guerrero shook his head in disgust. "Dumbass isn't even trying to lay low."

"He obviously doesn't think he's got anything to hide from," Chance remarked. He glanced at his friend. "You sure he's the one. Maybe the guy was lying when you questioned him."

Guerrero shook his head. "He'd already used up all his lies at that point." He ignored the bleak look Chance gave him and stepped down from the curb to cross the street. Chance kept pace with him. The two of them approached the house in a casual manner, so that any nosy neighbor who happened to catch sight of them would get the impression that they belonged there.

"So, we're just gonna knock on the front door?" Chance asked.

"Course not," Guerrero scoffed, "We're gonna check it out first, see if he's expecting trouble. _Then_ we'll knock."

It was easy to see inside; the inside of the house was brightly lit. They saw the sole occupant slouched in a Barcalounger watching TV, an open beercan resting in the crotch of his legs. His prominent gut peeped out from beneath his tight wifebeater shirt.

Chance grimaced. "What a handsome man."

The two of them returned to the front of the house where Guerrero knocked brazenly on the door. Chance stood off to the side, ready to jump in should things get hairy. The door opened and the man stood in all his slovenly glory, blinking at Guerrero first in confusion, then in dawning comprehension.

"Hey, Jonas," Guerrero smirked, "Long time no see." He slammed his hands against the man's chest, knocking him backward. Guerrero strode into the house, followed by Chance who shut the door behind them and started to draw the curtains. Wouldn't do to have prying eyes on this occasion.

The man, Jonas, managed to regain his balance and stood glowering at the intruders. "Guerrero, you fuck!" he spat.

Guerrero rolled his eyes. "Always with the cheap insults. No imagination at all, dude. Like using intermediaries to hire guys you'd worked with before. You really thought they wouldn't recognize your voice when they called in?"

Jonas didn't respond, just stared down at the smaller man with palpable hatred.

Chance stood apart from them, hands in his pockets. "I take it you two know each other."

"Yeah," Guerrero explained, "Jonas here hired me to help him with a job 'bout eight years ago. Things went south and-"

"You left me hangin', you prick!" Jonas snarled, "My reputation went to shit. I'm just barely scrapin' by now, all 'cause _you_ didn't have the balls to finish what we started!"

"I listened to my gut, man," Guerrero said coolly, "We were in way over our heads. Told ya to back out while you had the chance. Not my fault you were too stupid to listen."

"You ruined my life, you piece of shit!"

"How did you find out about Riley and the kid?" Chance interjected.

Jonas's features morphed into a ghastly smile. Instead of answering Chance directly, he continued to speak to Guerrero. "I heard you quit workin' for the Old Man. I went to see him, told him I'd give him everything I owned if he took you out. He wouldn't do it."

"That's 'cause you didn't have anything worth taking," Guerrero sneered.

"Nah," Jonas shook his jowly head, "Said he'd never take out one of his own boys, even if they did abandon him."

Both Guerrero's and Chance's eyes hardened at the word "abandon." It sounded like something the manipulative old bastard would say.

Jonas continued, "But he didn't have a problem with passin' on some info about you. Turns out Baptiste told the Old Man about that bitch you knocked up. The Old Man told me, and I've been watchin' her and your bastard kid ever since. I learned to be patient, Guerrero. I _knew_ you'd find out about 'em one day and try to see 'em. And when you did, my guys would be waiting."

"Nice plan," Guerrero said sardonically, "Too bad you and your guys were so incompetent in its execution."

Jonas scratched his jutting belly. "Funny, always thought you'd go for the kid first. Never thought you'd ever give a shit about the woman."

Guerrero placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Don't beat yourself up about it, dude," he said in false sympathy, "Nobody would've thought that. Not even me." And with a suddenness that even amazed Chance, he moved behind the man and slipped a garrotte around his flabby neck, pulling it tight. Jonas's eyes bugged, his tongue jutted from his gaping mouth, and a horrible sound emerged from his constricted throat. He clawed ineffectually at the garrotte, his dirty nails scratching the flesh of his neck.

Chance's expression tightened. "Guerrero."

"Yeah, Chance?" Guerrero asked, his tone conversational, while he continued to strangle the man.

"You don't have to kill him."

The corner of Guerrero's mouth quirked. "You gonna stop me, bro?"

The conflict Chance experienced was all too obvious. He hated himself for what he said next. "No."

"Better wait outside, then, dude."

Chance stepped out the door, feeling sick.

Guerrero didn't kill Jonas right away. He used the garrote until the man passed out, then dragged the unconscious body over by the stairs, grunting and straining the whole way. Jeez, this guy really let himself go in the intervening years. A quick search provided a thin but sturdy extension cord which proved ideal for his purposes. Guerrero tied one end to the bannister, well within reach, then looped the other end around Jonas's neck. When he was done, he let the unconscious Jonas slump, his own weight tightening the makeshift noose. Within moments his face went from bright red to hideous purple. Guerrero check for a pulse on the man's wrist, nodded in satisfaction when he found none. He doubted anyone would find the body right away. Jonas didn't strike him as the type to have regular visitors. By the time the cops stopped by—no doubt to investigate the smell—they'd be hard-pressed to pin down the exact time of death. They'd likely rule it as either a suicide or autoerotic asphyxiation gone wrong.

Guerrero spent a few more minutes wiping his prints from whatever surfaces he might have touched, then sauntered out of the house without a backward glance. He found Chance waiting by their cars. Seeing his friend's downcast look made Guerrero experience a pang of something akin to guilt. He felt bad that Chance had to see what went on in that house. It was an uncomfortable reminder that their ethics didn't always coincide, especially when it came to the value of other people's lives. Chance truly believed that nobody, no matter how despicable, deserved to die, whereas Guerrero wasn't burdened by such lofty notions. Jonas definitely deserved what he got. Guerrero would have done the same if that fat bastard had come after Chance or even Winston. No one threatened Guerrero's people and got away with it.

The two men stood facing each other, hands in their pockets. The awkward silence stretched between them. Guerrero finally broke it. "We shouldn't be hangin' around, bro."

"Right," Chance sighed. He walked around to the driver's side of his car, opened the door. As he started to get in, Guerrero spoke up.

"Are we still cool, Chance?"

The former assassin looked at his friend. For a moment so brief he would have missed it had he blinked, he caught a trace of anxiety in the smaller man's expression. He waited a second longer, then gave the merest nod.

Guerrero nodded back. If he felt any relief, he kept it well hidden.

They got into their cars and drove for Chance's place, leaving the well-lit house and its grisly contents behind them.

* * *

Carmine took an instant liking to the new arrival. He'd padded into the lounge, found Riley sitting forlornly in one of the comfortable chairs, and immediately went to sit before her, propping his chin on her knee. Few women could resist the power of those watery brown eyes gazing beseechingly at them. Riley proved no exception.

"Hey, boy." She smiled and scratched behind the dog's small, floppy ears. Carmine uttered a happy sigh.

When Winston arrived a few minutes later carrying two steaming mugs of tea he found Riley kneeling on the floor vigorously scratching the rottweiler's belly. Carmine's tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. His rear leg jittered in that way dogs did to assure the scratcher she was doing everything right.

"I see Carmine's already introduced himself," Winston remarked.

Riley laughed. "He's such a cutie. He yours?"

"No, he's Chance's dog." He set one of the mugs down on the coffee table and took the other with him to the nearest chair. He sat down with an appreciative groan. "Sometimes I think that mutt's the only thing that keeps him sane."

Riley stopped her scratching and stood, much to Carmine's chagrin. She returned to her seat and picked up the mug Winston left for her, blew gently, and took a sip. "Thank you," she said.

Winston nodded.

Riley's eyes wandered over her surroundings. She liked this place, it had character. Built from brick and cinder block, wood and wrought iron. A throwback to a time when architects designed things to last and to have personality. Riley much preferred such places to modern buildings, which she felt were far too cold and impersonal and looked as if they were made to shatter within a few years to make room for the next flashy trend.

"So," Winston began, jarring her from her reverie, "How long have you and Guerrero known each other?"

Riley pursed her lips. "It's kinda complicated."

"I'll bet," the former cop muttered. He voiced his next question with an air of caution. "You do know what he does for a living?"

"Yeah," Riley sighed, staring into her mug, "He told me. Didn't go into any details about it, but...I know about the things he's done."

"And you still-" he blurted before he caught himself. "Uhm, that is..." he struggled to find a tactful way to ask, but really, how do you question somebody's sanity without insulting them? Winston was sure there had to be _something_ wrong with her, no matter how nice or unassuming she appeared to be. No sane woman could ever want to be with Guerrero after finding out about the repugnant things he'd done throughout his illicit career.

Riley smiled. "Doesn't make any sense, does it?"

"Well..._no_."

"I can't explain it," she admitted, "'Cause I don't really understand it myself. I just know that I need to be with him. And I think, maybe, he feels the same way about me." She shrugged self-consciously. "Or maybe I'm just kidding myself."

"I dunno," Winston said, thinking of the kiss he'd witnessed. As good a liar as he knew Guerrero to be, he just couldn't convince himself the affection he saw in that simple act was anything but genuine. For whatever bizarre reason, Guerrero truly cared for this woman. Maybe even as much as she cared for him.

Riley liked Winston. She liked his wry sarcasm and his compassion, his integrity and ferocious loyalty. He must have been an excellent cop before he quit the force. Riley felt protected by his presence.

A rattling sound heralded the arrival of the elevator. Riley and Winston shared a look, then set down their mugs and headed for the lobby, Carmine padding after them. Riley saw Guerrero exit the elevator alongside a tall, very fit man whose chiseled features reminded her of old-time movie stars. She could easily imagine him in a classic western or war movie, battling cattle rustlers or enemy soldiers, winning the hearts of leading ladies who swooned in his arms.

He flashed her a smile that practically dripped with charm. "Hi. You must be Riley." He thrust out a hand. "Christopher Chance."

Riley shook his proffered hand, surprised by the gentleness of his grip despite the strength she felt in the thickly calloused palm. She found herself riveted by the man's eyes. Like Guerrero's, they were blue, but where Guerrero's eyes were steely and often cold, Chance's gaze was filled with kindness and humor.

"H-hi," she stammered. Good grief, was she blushing?

Guerrero took in their exchange in stone-faced silence. He found Riley's suitcase tucked away in a corner and snagged it. "Problem's been taken care of," he stated, "Time to go."

His abruptness caught the others off guard. Riley met the other men's puzzled looks, offered an apologetic shrug, and moved to follow Guerrero onto the elevator. "Nice meeting the two of you. And you, Carmine." She gave the dog a farewell pat.

"Likewise," Chance said. "Guess we'll see you around sometime?"

"I'd like th-"

Guerrero yanked the cage door shut and jabbed the down button. The elevator gave a lurch and descended.

"Um, bye!" Riley called.

Chance and Winston waved until she and Guerrero were out of sight.

"She seems nice," Chance remarked.

"Yes, she does," Winston replied thoughtfully.

Moments later, riding in the El-Do, Riley peeked at Guerrero from the corner of her eye. He'd been oddly silent since he picked her up. She wondered what was bothering him.

"You said the problem was taken care of," she ventured, "Did you find out who hired those hit men?"

"Yeah," Guerrero responded tersely, "Some lowlife I worked with a few years back. Didn't like how things worked out for him and blamed me for it."

"Will he come after us again?"

"Only if you believe in ghosts." There was no denying the satisfaction in his voice.

Riley bit her lip and tried not to dwell on the implications. Hard enough knowing the things Guerrero did; she really didn't need to learn how he did them. Instead, she focused on her earlier question; what was bothering him? It obviously wasn't what happened between him and the guy who had a grudge against him. Then Riley thought about how he rushed them out of Chance's place and she kicked herself for not seeing it. But really, she never thought of herself as anything special. Certainly nothing for others to feel jealousy over.

"Chance seemed nice," she ventured, "Too bad we couldn't stay a while longer. I would've liked to get to know him."

"I'll just bet you would," Guerrero muttered under his breath. Riley's sharp ears still overheard him, though.

"You're jealous," she said casually, as if remarking on the cloudy sky.

"Not even a little," Guerrero retorted in the same offhand tone.

"He _is_ awful easy on the eyes."

"Must be, since you wouldn't stop staring at him."

Riley cracked, but not the way Guerrero expected. Instead of being defensive anger, she started laughing, throwing her head back against the seat's headrest, hands clamped over her mouth. Guerrero looked at her as if she were crazy.

"The hell's so funny?"

"This!" Riley said, indicating the two of them, "After all we've been through the last few days, you suddenly feel threatened by the fact that I think your friend's attractive."

"So you're _attracted_ to him, huh?" he snapped, amazed at his own childishness.

"For god's sake, I'm not blind!" Riley exclaimed, still laughing, "Are you telling me if some hottie in skimpy clothes crossed the street you wouldn't stare?"

"Shit," Guerrero snorted. His right hand pushed up his glasses to rub at his eyes. "I must be tired. Actin' like some dumbass sophomore whining about his girlfriend."

"We're both tired," Riley said, now calmed. She leaned back in her seat and stared through the windshield with half-lidded eyes. "How far off's your place?"

"'Bout twenty minutes." Guerrero's mouth quirked. "Got a king size bed."

Riley grinned.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, now that their immediate troubles are over, we're gonna see how Guerrero and Riley handle living together. Stay tuned!


	13. Tougher Than She Knew

**A/N:** The basic self defense info I referenced in this chapter was found on the GoogoBits website under their article "Basic Self Defense for Women."

I love the Internet. You can find anything!

**Disclaimer: How many ways can I say it? The show's not mine!**

Riley was mildly surprised to discover that Guerrero did not live in an apartment, though he mentioned that he kept several in various cities he frequented in his work. Instead, the place he considered home was a modest ranch house in an equally modest neighborhood where fellow residents knew to respect personal boundaries. Guerrero maintained a cordial, but distant, relationship with his neighbors who were utterly clueless as to the nature of his work, knowing only that he was some kind of freelance consultant who's job required a great deal of travel.

The automatic garage door swung open to admit the El-Do. Guerrero parked, switched off the engine, and yawned. The excitement over the past few days, plus the hundreds of miles of travel, had left him exhausted. He turned his attention to the passenger seat and saw Riley rubbing her eyes, having roused from a doze once the car stopped.

"We there?" she mumbled.

"Yep. Home sweet home." Guerrero pulled the trunk release and got out of the car. He went around to the back of the car to retrieve Riley's suitcase, then slammed the trunk shut.

Riley exited the El-Do and saw Guerrero with her suitcase. "I can carry it," she said, reaching for the handle. Guerrero didn't protest, even though he saw the case was heavy enough to require Riley to use both hands to carry it. He led her to the back of the garage where the house's side entrance was located. He unlocked the door and stepped through, holding the door open for Riley before he closed and locked it again.

The moment the lights came on, the first thing to greet Riley's vision was the built-in bookcase that took up an entire wall of the den. Riley couldn't help but beam at the sight. It appeared that Guerrero enjoyed reading as much as she did. There were paperbacks and hardcovers from a variety of genres: mystery, thriller, classic literature, science fiction. Some she'd read herself, others she hadn't. She looked at Guerrero and smiled. "I knew there was something I liked about you."

Guerrero smirked. He took off his jacket, put it on a hanger, and hung it from a coat rack by the front door. Then he kicked off his shoes and padded on sock-clad feet to another door, indicating with a jerk of his head that Riley should follow. Riley paused a moment to slip out of her own sneakers before lugging her suitcase after him. The door brought them exactly where she expected, the bedroom. And just as Guerrero promised, there was the king size bed. Riley gave in to a childlike impulse to drop her suitcase, dash across the room, and leap onto the large bed, landing spread-eagle on her back. She whooped as the mattress bounced her like a trampoline.

Guerrero rolled his eyes in mock-annoyance. "Grow up, dude."

Riley giggled. She raised herself up on her elbows, saw Guerrero staring at her with an odd expression. "What?"

He shrugged. "Kinda weird, is all. Never had anyone else in my bed before."

"Really? No girlfriends or...uh...anything?" she finished lamely.

Guerrero shook his head. "I prefer people not know where I live."

Considering all she'd learned about him, this made perfect sense. It made Riley all the more aware of how new this relationship was for Guerrero as well as herself, neither of them certain how to proceed.

A deep yawn interrupted Riley's thoughts. Guerrero chuckled and held out his hand. "C'mon. I'll show you where the bathroom is."

Riley took his hand without hesitation, let him pull her up to a standing position. She went to get her toiletries from her suitcase and followed him to the bathroom. There they took care of their nightly necessities before returning to the bedroom to strip out of most of their clothing and climb into the spacious bed. Guerrero switched off the bedside light. In the darkness, he reached out to pull Riley against him. She sighed happily and snuggled against him, her body's position conforming to his.

"I love this," she murmured.

"It's a Serta," Guerrero said, making her laugh.

"I don't mean the mattress," she giggled, "I mean _this_. Being here with you."

Guerrero fell silent. He knew what she meant. He wondered if he would ever again be able to sleep well on his own. Even now, holding Riley, he felt the tension ease from his muscles faster than normal, bringing sleep upon him that much sooner.

"G'night," Riley whispered.

"Night."

The next morning, a divine smell woke Riley from a restful sleep. Her eyes remained closed as her arm stretched out, fingers grasping for the source of that wonderful aroma. Her fingertips brushed the edge of a plate which remained stubbornly out of reach. An amused chuckle reached her ears.

"C'mon, sleepyhead. Open your eyes."

Riley groaned and reluctantly forced her eyelids to peel back. The sight which greeted her proved worth the effort. Kneeling by the bed was a grinning Guerrero holding a plate in one hand, and on this plate rested three strips of bacon. Not that silly turkey bacon or (god forbid) soy, but real honest-to-goodness heart-clogging fatty strips of cured pork, and the main reason Riley would never turn vegetarian. She reached out and nabbed one of the strips, biting into it with a satisfying crunch. _Yum._ She finished quickly and took another from the plate.

"You didn't have to do this," she said, munching, "But I'm real glad you did."

Guerrero set the plate with its single remaining bacon strip on the nightstand. "Finish that off, then get your ass outta bed," he said, blunt but not unfriendly, and straightened from his crouch. "There's more where that came from."

Riley perked up. "More? Like what?"

"You'll see," he grinned, then sauntered out of the bedroom.

Riley flung the covers aside and sat up, grabbing the last strip of bacon. Once she wolfed that down, she got up and padded over to where her suitcase waited. She stared at it for a moment. "My whole life's been reduced to the contents of a suitcase that's older than I am," she mused.

Riley knelt and opened the suitcase, digging out her smileyface bathrobe. Her eyes alighted on the small box she'd hastily packed away on the day she left her apartment. She pulled it out and sat back on her heels, gazing at the object in her hands in thought. After a short while she sighed and put it back, shutting the case. Riley then stood, put on her robe, and shuffled out of the bedroom.

Most people in Guerrero's acquaintance knew of his fondness for eating, especially if the food came from someone else's fridge. What they _didn't _know was that whenever he had some time off at home, Guerrero loved to cook. His kitchen contained all the accoutrements commonly found in professional chefs' workstations, and a small box on the counter was crammed with recipe cards, many of them dogeared from use.

Riley wandered into the kitchen to find Guerrero setting out their breakfast on the dinette table. Riley gaped at the plate set before her: thick slabs of French toast cut in neat triangles, topped with strawberries and whipped cream. Not whipped cream from a can or plastic tub, either, but hand-beaten in a mixing bowl. A bottle of all-natural maple syrup rested in the center of the table next to a coffee urn and a carton of orange juice.

Riley stared in amazement. "How long've you been up?"

"A while," Guerrero said vaguely, seating himself at the table. He indicated the space across from him. "Pull up a chair. Don't want it gettin' cold."

He didn't have to tell her twice. Riley hurried to take her seat. After a brief hesitation, she picked up the syrup and poured a generous measure over her toast, passing the bottle to Guerrero afterwards. She then picked up her knife and fork, sliced off a bite-sized piece, and brought it to her mouth. It was perfect; crisp and flavorful. Riley's eyes widened as she chewed appreciatively. She pointed with her fork. "This," she said through a full mouth, "is the best breakfast I've ever tasted."

Guerrero snorted, feigning indifference to her compliment, while inside he was elated. He'd never bothered to cook for anyone but himself before and seeing Riley's enthusiasm proved to be one hell of an ego boost.

Little was said over the next few minutes as the couple worked their way through the meal. Once Riley's plate was clean she leaned back in her chair, hands folded over her stomach. "I think I ate too fast," she grinned.

Guerrero stood and gathered up the dishes. Riley insisted on picking up after herself. Once they loaded the dishwasher they stood facing each other for one awkward moment. Then Guerrero reached for Riley's hand. "C'mon. Lemme show you the rest of the place."

There really wasn't much to the place. The only other rooms Riley hadn't already seen was Guerrero's small office (which he preferred Riley stay out of unless invited) and a spare room which he'd converted into a personal gym. There was a treadmill situated in front of the window, a weight set in the corner, a punching bag dangling from the ceiling, and, oddly, a freestanding life-sized figure of a man cast in hard foam rubber. Riley looked from the figure to Guerrero and raised an eyebrow. Guerrero shrugged. "Gotta keep in practice."

Riley stared at the equipment in thought. Once upon a time she attended a local gym for all of one summer until her enthusiasm waned and she just stopped going. While far from obese, she knew she could stand to lose a few pounds. And living in a house with its own gym that she never used just seemed ridiculous.

"Is it okay if I use this?" she asked, indicating the entire room.

Guerrero nodded. "Sure. Fact, I was hoping you'd say that."

Riley frowned, the corner of her mouth upturned. "Why? Are you implying something about my figure?"

His grin held the quality of a leer. "We both know I like your figure just fine. What I meant was there's some things I think you oughta learn. Self defense techniques, in case..."

Riley sobered. "Right. You won't always be here to look after me."

Guerrero nodded. "One of the downsides of freelancing; I gotta take whatever work comes my way. Sometimes a job 'll keep me away for days or weeks, even months, though I try to avoid those if I can."

"And I need to be able to take care of myself if something happens."

Guerrero rested his hands on her shoulders. "There's a lotta people out there who wouldn't hesitate to try and use you to get back at me. If they ever found out about this place, they'd come after you while I was away."

Riley swallowed nervously. The food she'd enjoyed moments before now sat heavily in her stomach. She knew he was right, but the idea of any sort of physical confrontation scared her. She was more of the running away type. But sometimes running wasn't an option. Reluctantly, she nodded. "Okay."

"Okay." Guerrero put his arms around her. Riley hugged him back. "Don't worry," he assured her, "I'll show you what you need to know. It's easier than you think."

And it was, in some ways. Guerrero taught Riley to use different parts of her body to fight back. He taught her to use her hands to tear at sensitive parts of an assailant's body; her elbows to strike at the diaphragm, throat, sternum, or groin; her knees to kick the lower stomach or crotch; her feet to strike at the ankles, calves, or Achilles' tendons, as well as to stomp down on the attacker's instep; and her head to smash an attacker's nose.

"Fight dirty," Guerrero told her, "Do whatever it takes to let the fucker know you won't go down easy. If you can, go for the eyes or throat. Dig your fingers into the soft tissue. Strike the windpipe with your open hand or grab hold of it like you're gonna rip it out."

Riley blanched at the gruesome imagery, but she did those things and more. Guerrero had her practice on him. She held back at first, afraid she might hurt him, but Guerrero goaded and cajoled her, intimidated her with mock attacks, until she lost her compunctions and fought back. Gradually, after weeks of repetition, her hesitance waned and her movements grew more confident. She learned how to break a choke hold, how to defend herself from an attacker armed with a knife, how to fight back even while restrained or pinned down.

That wasn't all Guerrero taught her. He showed her the various escape routes he'd added to the house, a couple of hidden doors and false walls, told her where to go should she be forced to run, and gave her a phone number to memorize in case of emergency.

"Whose number is it?" she asked.

Guerrero smirked. "Only guy I'd trust if I was in a scrape. Chance."

Riley smiled. Somehow, just knowing Guerrero's closest friend would be there for her made her feel secure. Almost as secure as having Guerrero around.

There was only one thing about Guerrero's house that gave her some anxiety; there were hidden firearms everywhere. And Guerrero expected her to know how to use them. Self defense was one thing, but guns... "B-but I could kill somebody."

"That's sorta the point, dude," Guerrero said drily.

Riley shook her head. "I don't think I could do that."

"The kinds of guys who'd wanna come after me won't give a shit about your squeamishness," Guerrero said harshly, "They'll kill you just for being here, but not before they raped and tortured you."

Riley looked away, biting her lip. She felt the gentle pressure of Guerrero's hand on her back. "I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't think you were capable," he said, hoping it came out reassuring rather than impatient. Riley looked at him with a mixture of fear and sadness. He rubbed his hand over her back in slow circles. "I know you can do it, baby."

She sighed. "'Kay. But I don't think I could ever kill anybody, even if they wanted to do those awful things to me."

"Fine. Shoot to maim, then."

The first time Riley held a gun, she was ashamed to see her hand tremble. The damn thing wasn't even loaded! But hers was a fear borne of unfamiliarity combined with the horror stories she'd heard of accidental shootings in people's homes. What if she panicked some dark night and shot Guerrero?

"That won't happen if you know what you're doing," he told her firmly. He took her to an indoor shooting range he himself frequented.

"You would live within walking distance of a shooting range," Riley laughed, trying to ignore her anxiety.

"One of the reasons I decided to move into this neighborhood, dude," Guerrero responded. The backpack he often carried with him on jobs was slung over his shoulder. Inside was a semi-automatic handgun and several ammo clips. He'd already provided Riley with the necessary permits; she had her doubts as to their legitimacy, though.

The nondescript white building hove into view. Riley's stomach roiled. "I can't do this."

"Buck up. You'll do fine."

"I've never even _thought_ about using a gun," she blurted, "Closest I ever got was when I was a kid and my dad got me Duck Hunt for my Nintendo. I only used it once and I stopped 'cause I felt sorry for the ducks!"

Guerrero threw her a look. "You felt sorry for digital ducks?"

"Never said I was rational," she grumbled.

When they entered the building, a burly woman behind the counter frowned in concern at Riley's obvious distress. "You alright, darlin'?"

Riley visibly pulled herself together. "Fine. Just nerves."

The woman didn't look entirely convinced, but nevertheless passed them their ear and eye protection. Inside the range, half a dozen mostly male shooters fired a variety of handguns at paper targets. Even with her earphones on, Riley winced at the din the weapons made. The noise, along with the stink of gunpowder, put her in mind of firecrackers. Guerrero led her to an available stall and set the semi-auto down in front of her, along with an ammo clip. Riley took a breath, then picked up the gun and slid the clip home, pulling back the slide to chamber the first round as she'd been taught. She gripped the weapon in both hands and pointed it at the target. The barrel wavered.

"Take your time!" Guerrero shouted over the noise and the muffling effects of the earphones.

Riley remembered at the last second to thumb the safety off. She clenched her jaws and squeezed the trigger. The gun jumped in her hands, startling her. The paper target didn't so much as flutter.

"That's great!" Guerrero yelled, smirking, "Next time try keepin' your eyes open!"

Riley found herself laughing at his words. Her anxiety eased a little as a result. She brought the gun up once again and took aim. This time, she put a hole through the lower right part of the silhouette's torso. She fired again and again, her confidence growing. Her accuracy quickly improved. Riley proved to be a competent markswoman. Not as good as Guerrero, of course, but good enough to satisfy him that she could hold her own should the situation require it.

"I still don't think I could shoot a person," she said on the way home.

"Better hope you won't have to find out," Guerrero replied. "Keep practicing," he told her, "Go back to the range at least once a week, but don't ever keep a regular schedule. Last thing you wanna be is predictable."

Riley linked arms with him. "Thanks for being patient with me."

Guerrero smiled, bumped her shoulder with his. "You're tougher than you think."

"I don't feel that," she said, "Sometimes I think I'm downright wimpy."

He snorted. "You're not."

"And how do you know?" she challenged, only half joking.

"'Cause I don't waste my time on wimps."

Riley smiled. "You're so sweet."

They strode on in silence, comfortable in each other's company. As they neared the house Guerrero cleared his throat. "Uh, there's something I gotta tell you."

Riley paused, turned to face him. "What?"

"That call I took yesterday?"

She nodded, recalling how he'd shut himself in his office during his conversation. Riley suspected she knew what he was about to tell her.

"It was a job. I'm gonna have to leave town for a few days."

Riley sighed. "Okay."

"It shouldn't take more than a couple of days," he continued, "You shouldn't have any trouble-"

"Guerrero, it's okay." She smiled at his evident worry. "I'll be fine. I know how to handle myself, thanks to you."

Guerrero shifted uncomfortably. He'd never been this reluctant to leave home before. Of course, he'd never really had anything worth sticking around for. But he couldn't afford to turn down work when it came. He had to go. Guerrero knew the chances of something happening to Riley during his absence was remote, and yet...the incident with her friend Matt was still fresh in their minds.

Riley put her arms around his waist. "I'll be fine," she repeated.

Guerrero nodded and tried to show confidence in her assurance. But that niggling doubt remained.


	14. Exercise In Trust

**A/N:** Lemon in this chapter, folks. But don't worry, there's other stuff in here, too.

The song lyrics referenced at the beginning are from the song _Ain't No Rest For the Wicked_ by the group Cage the Elephant. Awesome band.

**Disclaimer: Ah, Guerrero. If you were mine... But you're not, and neither is _Human Target_. (Sigh)**

Riley hovered in the doorway to the bedroom, watching Guerrero pack for his business trip. Such an innocuous label for what was likely to be a sinister task, she mused. She observed how efficiently he placed each item in the duffel bag, nothing out of place, nothing missing nor unnecessary. Guerrero obviously had lots of experience in travel. He zipped the bag closed, lifted it off the bed to set on the floor, and turned to face her.

"Got you a cell phone," he said and passed it over to her. "It's just for talking to me. Don't make any other calls on it," he admonished.

Riley nodded; by now she was used to Guerrero's precautions. Paranoia was a valuable survival trait in his world.

"Am I only supposed to use in in emergencies?" she asked.

"Well, uh..." Guerrero stuck his hands in his pockets, "I thought, maybe, I'd give you a call while I'm gone. Just, y'know, make sure you don't burn the place down or anything."

A smile tugged at Riley's mouth. "My cooking isn't _that_ bad."

He grinned. "Oh, hey, I wanted to show you the ringtone." He pulled out his own cell and hit the speed dial. The phone in Riley's hand suddenly blared out the chorus to a popular song by Cage the Elephant:

_Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked,_

_Money don't grow on trees,_

_I got bills to pay,_

_I got mouths to feed,_

_There ain't nothing in this world for free._

_I know I can't slow down,_

_I can't hold back_

_Though you know I wish I could._

_Oh no, there ain't no rest for the wicked,_

_Until we close our eyes for good._

Riley doubled over with laughter. "Oh, that's perfect!"

"Thought you'd appreciate it," Guerrero smirked. He put his arms around her waist, held her against him. Riley smiled and draped her arms around his neck.

"Gonna be strange staying in this house without you."

"Just a couple of days," he assured her again. He understood the feeling, though. After spending over a month in Riley's company, Guerrero realized he would have to get used to being on his own again, even if only for a short time. And he couldn't stop himself from worrying. Anything could happen to her while he was away and unable to protect her. All the self defense lessons in the world would never be enough to reassure him.

Guerrero knew he'd become dependent on Riley. It was a situation he never would have allowed, only it crept up on him so subtly. Now he was hooked, and the worst part was, he couldn't even bring himself to give a shit. He'd become the sort of sentimental idiot he always scoffed at.

Riley, staring into his eyes, tilted her head. "What're you thinking about?"

"Nothin'," he said, running his hands up and down her back. "What about you?"

She bit her lip. "Um, there's something I wanted to talk to you about. But it can wait 'til you get back."

Her ambivalence piqued his curiosity. "You brought it up, dude. Spill it."

Riley took a breath. "Ethan's birthday is coming up soon. His parents left me an open invitation to visit him then. I...I was thinking maybe...we could both...?"

Guerrero's first and strongest impulse was a flat-out no. He didn't want to meet their son. He didn't want to encounter yet another person he knew he would care about and make himself even more vulnerable.

He withdrew his arms, reached up to gently disentangle himself from Riley. "Not a good idea."

Riley held up both hands in a plea for reason. "I know why you're saying that, but-"

"No buts," Guerrero stated firmly, "Last thing this kid needs is somebody like me screwing up his life. If you really wanna go, that's your call, but don't expect me to come along."

Riley hesitated, but chose to persist. "I really think you should meet each other just this once."

"What the hell for?" Guerrero snapped, "He's already got a dad. And a mom, for that matter."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point? What possible good would it do?"

"I just..." Riley struggled to find the words, "I'm not asking to make friends with him. I'm not even expecting him to _like_ us, though I hope he does." She licked her lips anxiously. "I just want him to know us."

"You still haven't given me a reason, dude."

Riley sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked up at Guerrero. "I talk about my dad all the time. Ever wonder why I've never mentioned my mother?"

Guerrero shrugged, lowered himself down beside her. "Figured she died."

Riley shook her head. "No. She left when I was three. I don't know why. Dad wouldn't talk about it. He threw away all the pictures he had of her and acted like she never existed. I don't even remember what she looked like. I don't know if she's alive, got married again, had another family." She stared down at the faded knees of her jeans. "I think erasing her memory is the one thing I can't forgive my dad for. It's like some piece of my life is missing. I just wish I _knew_ her. Even if my mother turned out to be a total bitch, at least I'd _know_. Does that make sense?"

Guerrero sighed. "Yeah," he muttered.

Riley took his hand. "I don't want Ethan to have to wonder about where he came from. Even if we only meet him that one time, at least he'd know who we are." She squeezed his hand.

Guerrero shook his head. "Still think it's a mistake."

"Is that a no?"

"It's," he gave a half-shrug, "a maybe."

"Maybe as in you'll think about it? Or maybe as in you really mean no?" Riley quirked an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth raised in a smirk.

Guerrero laughed in exasperation. "Christ. I'll think about it, okay?"

Riley beamed, then leaned over to kiss him. Guerrero smirked. "Trying to sweeten the deal?"

"No," she kissed him again, deeper this time, "You're leaving soon and I wanna give you a proper sendoff."

"Sounds good to me." He grinned.

The next thing Riley knew, she was pinned down on the bed, Guerrero looming over her. She laughed, tried to free her wrists from his grasp, but he wouldn't let her go. "Hey."

"What?" Guerrero smiled wickedly. He moved to grip both her wrists with one hand while he removed his glasses and set them on the night table, then switched back to his original position.

Riley tugged a little harder. "Let go."

"Nuh-uh," Guerrero's face hovered over hers. His grip tightened uncomfortably. Riley looked into his flinty eyes and saw something predatory in them, something that brought shivers through her. It was the closest she'd ever come to being afraid of him.

"C'mon," he challenged, "Show me what your options are."

Riley swallowed, then raised her head to lightly bump his nose with her forehead. Guerrero's smile widened. "What else?"

Emboldened, she opened her mouth and took hold of his nose with her teeth, using just enough pressure to let him know she could easily bite the whole thing off. Guerrero chuckled. Riley let go of his nose and lightly bit his cheek, his chin, his bottom lip. She tried to move into a kiss, but Guerrero pulled away. Riley tried to close the distance, but her wrists were still restrained. She let herself fall back onto the pillow, sulking.

"What else?" Guerrero whispered. He saw Riley's expression turn to mischief, then felt her knee press into his groin. She moved it back and forth, rubbing against his growing erection. Guerrero moaned. "That's my girl." And then he finally acceded to her wishes and kissed her. Riley _mmm_ed happily as her tongue slid against his. Guerrero shifted his hands farther up from her wrists and twined his fingers with hers. He felt her legs wrap around his waist. Their bodies ground against each other. Once they finally came up for air they were both panting heavily.

"You trust me," Guerrero said; it wasn't a question.

Riley nodded. "Yes."

Guerrero got off of her and stood at the side of the bed. "Take your clothes off."

Riley was happy to obey. While she stripped she watched keenly as Guerrero removed his own clothing. She never ceased to be aroused at the sight of his body. So slim and muscular. Riley's own body was noticeably less padded, thanks to the morning exercise routine she started doing in the home gym. Once she shed the last article of clothing she blushed as Guerrero eyed her appreciatively. His gaze met hers and he smiled. "Lie back."

Riley did so, expecting him to join her on the bed. Instead, he bent down to retrieve something from the floor. When he straightened, he told her to put her arms up. Riley frowned, puzzled, but did so. Guerrero leaned over her and that was when she saw the item he'd retrieved from the floor was his belt. Riley stared at him, surprised and a little anxious, but didn't resist as he looped his belt around her left wrist and tied it to one of the bars of the headboard. Guerrero then picked up his shirt and used a sleeve to bind her other arm to another bar.

"Too tight?" he asked.

Riley tugged her bonds. She couldn't free herself, but she wasn't uncomfortable. "It's okay," she said, her voice faint with nervousness.

Guerrero climbed onto the bed. He straddled her, immobilizing her legs. She was utterly helpless now. He leaned over and cupped her face in his hands. "You still trust me."

"Y-yes." Her breathing quickened. She felt the rapid thrum of her heart in her chest. A strange tingle built in her stomach, a mixture of anxiety and excitement. The feeling increased as Guerrero's hands slipped down and his fingers curled around her neck. His thumbs rested against her throat. It would only take a little pressure to cut off her air.

Guerrero stared intently at her eyes. He saw the pupils narrow for a brief instant in fear, then grow so wide they all but obscured her irises. She wasn't afraid. He could kill her so easily, but she wasn't afraid. She trusted him that much. The realization made him even harder, something he didn't think was possible. His breath grew husky with desire.

"Say it," he rasped, knowing he didn't have to clarify.

Riley whispered, "I trust you."

Guerrero's hands slid further down until they cupped her small, round breasts. He kneaded them almost roughly, running his thumbs over the nipples until they were painfully hard. Riley whimpered, arching into his touch. Her wrists pulled futilely against their bonds.

"Say that you want me," Guerrero panted, his excitement growing.

"I want you. Ohhh..." Riley moaned as Guerrero's mouth closed over her right nipple. He continued to knead her other breast, pinching and rolling her nipple between his finger and thumb. Riley's mewls and whimpers rose in volume. Her body squirmed beneath him, making his erection twitch in response. Guerrero switched his mouth to her other breast, sucking and nibbling the hard pebble of flesh.

"P-please," Riley begged, struggling, "Oh god, please, Guerrero!"

Hearing her cry out his name was too much. Guerrero drew away from her breasts and groaned, "Fuck, baby, I can't wait anymore."

Riley smiled in elation as she felt his weight shift, allowing her to spread her legs wide open. Guerrero knelt between them, his hand reaching down to touch her swollen labia.

"You're soaked," he grinned, fingers stroking, "You want it as bad as I do."

Riley tried to grind herself against his hand, but he kept his touch light, frustrating her. "Please," she whined.

Guerrero took his hand away from her, his fingers glistening. He licked them clean, relishing her taste, then brought his throbbing cock to her waiting entrance. He could feel the heat radiating from her like a furnace. But he didn't penetrate her.

"What do you want?" he asked, teasing her with gentle prods.

Riley moaned, "I want you."

"What do you want me to do? Say it," he hissed through gritted teeth, wondering if he had the strength to hold back any longer, "Say what you want me to do to you, baby."

"Fuck me!" she screamed, her inhibitions forgotten in the intensity of the moment.

Guerrero slammed into her, eliciting a squeal from her. His hips immediately started to thrust at an insane pace. Loud, animalistic grunts escaped between his clenched jaws, mingled with Riley's joyous cries. Her legs wrapped tightly around him, heels digging into the small of his back.

Riley was no longer aware of the restraints on her wrists. No conscious thought remained. There was only the primal sensations her body experienced, the rising feeling in her belly as her climax approached. She didn't even realize that the sounds emerging from her lips were actual words. "Guerrero, oh god, I love you! Oh! Oh YES!" she shrieked as her orgasm crashed over her.

Guerrero roared, exploding into his own climax.

Their bodies seemed to deflate as they fell onto the bed, limp and drenched with sweat. Their eyes were glassy from exhaustion. It was several minutes before Guerrero mustered enough energy to reach out and loosen the knots on Riley's bindings. Her arms flopped down onto the mattress. Guerrero rolled off of her and lay on his side, one arm draped across her middle. Their eyes met. Breathless laughter.

"Talk about a sendoff," Guerrero remarked wearily.

Riley grinned. "I'm gonna be so sore later."

"Wrists okay?" he asked, concerned.

"Dunno. I'm totally numb right now."

Guerrero took in the sight of her, skin flushed and gleaming with moisture, lips swollen from kissing, hair fanned out across the pillow. "You look beautiful."

Riley laughed. "I'm a sweaty mess."

"Beautiful," he repeated. He lifted his hand from her midsection and brought it to rest against her cheek.

Riley closed her eyes. "You make me feel beautiful," she murmured.

"You make me feel-"

Her eyes opened at his sudden halt. "What?" she asked, "How do I make you feel?"

Guerrero stared at her for a long time, then rolled onto his back with a sigh. "Drained."

Riley giggled. She placed a hand on his chest. "Just imagine what the welcome home's gonna be like."

He grinned. "You trying to kill me with sex, dude?"

"It's every guy's fantasy, right?"

He snorted. His head lolled to the side and he looked at her. There was something in his eyes she couldn't read; something almost sad.

"What're you thinking?" she asked.

_Did you mean it?_ He wondered, but didn't ask. He'd heard her when she shouted the words _I love you._ They startled him at the time and left him wondering if it was true or just something she said in the heat of the moment. Guerrero had always been so cynical of that phrase. People bandied it out all the time, wearing it out with use until it lost all meaning. The fact that he cared whether or not Riley was sincere bugged the hell out of him. Why the hell should it matter?

Instead of answering her, Guerrero forced himself to sit up, every muscle in his body protesting. "Much as I want to, I can't lie around. Gotta leave pretty soon."

Riley bit her lip to stifle her disappointment. She hated the idea of him leaving her again, even though she knew this time he was coming back. With a loud groan she rose shakily from the bed. Guerrero looked at her over his shoulder and smiled, held his hand out to her. Riley took it and the two of them shuffled into the bathroom.

The shower helped revive them somewhat. Afterward, they dried each other off. Guerrero noticed the red marks on Riley's wrists, made vivid from her washing. His brow furrowed. He knew they weren't anything serious, but seeing those marks on her and knowing he was responsible bothered him.

"It's okay," Riley said, "They don't even hurt."

Guerrero cradled her wrists in his hands, ran his thumbs over the red welts. "My dad used to tie me to the bed to punish me whenever I pissed him off," he murmured, "And I always seemed to piss him off, even when I tried not to. He'd leave me lying there all day. Sometimes I'd piss and shit myself and he'd take his belt to me for it, then made me clean up."

Riley was shocked, both at the context of what he said as well as the fact that he even brought it up. He so rarely spoke of his past. She wondered if any of it was worth recalling.

"This wasn't the same," she told him quietly.

Guerrero nodded. "I know." He brought her wrists up to his lips, kissed them gently. Then he guided her hands to his neck and let them close around his throat, her thumbs to either side of his Adam's apple. He smiled at Riley's startled expression. "I trust you, too."

Riley's breath hitched. Coming from Guerrero, this was tantamount to a declaration of love. Eyes stinging, she drew closer and brought her lips to his. The bristles of his mustache rasped against her upper lip, a feeling she adored.

All too soon, Guerrero was dressed, Riley clad in her smileyface bathrobe, the two of them stood at the front door to say their goodbyes. Riley moved to embrace Guerrero and he muttered in her ear, "I'll call you tonight after I settle into a hotel."

"Call me every day," Riley said.

"I won't be gone that long, dude."

"Then you won't have to call very often," she retorted.

Guerrero chuckled. He gave her one last kiss, then picked up his bag and headed out the door. "See ya."

"See ya," Riley answered. The door shut. She continued to stand where she was, listening for the sound of the El-Do's engine starting, then fading into the distance, leaving her alone in a house that no longer felt like home.


	15. Undeserving

**Disclaimer: Let me check... Nope. Still don't own _Human Target._**

Guerrero's absence made Riley feel out of place in the house; just when she'd started to feel at home. She tried to keep herself occupied, read from his extensive library, watched TV, even tidied up the house, though Guerrero's habitual neatness rendered her efforts moot. The only thing that seemed to hold her attention for more than a few minutes, oddly enough, was exercise. When she made use of the home gym, her mind seemed to clear as if in meditation while her body labored. She found herself spending much of the day strolling on the treadmill and gazing out the window into the backyard while the radio droned in the background. Before she knew it her stomach was informing her that it was time to eat. Riley stepped off the treadmill and mopped the sweat from her brow with a small towel that hung off the handlebars. On her way out, she paused at the door. There was a chin-up bar set high in the door frame. She'd seen Guerrero use it with hardly any effort, lifting himself up over and over (often with his shirt off, which she counted as a major plus). Curious how she'd measure up, Riley stretched her arms up and took hold of the metal bar, then drew up her feet. Dangling, she grunted and strained to pull herself up. But try as she might, the best she could do was bend her elbows a little bit. She set her feet back on the ground and let go of the bar, shaking her friction-burned palms, and glared in disgust. "Can't even do one lousy chin-up," she groused.

Riley shuffled into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Before he left, Guerrero had cooked up a lasagna for their last dinner together. The leftovers were portioned out in plastic Rubbermaid containers, needing only a quick zap to heat them up. Riley grabbed one of the containers, peeled off the lid, and shoved it into the microwave. While she waited for her dinner to warm up, she rummaged in the fridge again for something to drink. Damn, they were out of orange juice. Riley drank that stuff by the gallon. It was almost an addiction for her. Being stuck alone in the house without orange juice was unacceptable to her, plain and simple.

_It's not as if he forbade me to leave the house,_ she told herself as she poured a glass of Sprite (not that she'd tolerate that kind of thing, even from Guerrero). He expected her to get out to the shooting range once in a while, after all. She decided to make a quick trip to the supermarket after she ate.

The microwave dinged. Riley took hold of the steaming container by its edges and gingerly carried it over to the dinette table. Seated, she picked up her fork and dug in. The lasagna was every bit as good as it was when fresh.

It hardly seemed fair, she mused. Guerrero was so self-sufficient. The house always spotless, the food excellent, bills paid. What contribution did Riley make to this relationship? Besides sex, that is.

Apparently, shop for groceries while he was out of town. That was something, anyway.

Once she finished her meal and loaded the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, Riley took a quick shower, then changed into street clothes. She grabbed a shopping bag, stuffed her cell phone into one pocket, her wallet and house key in the other pocket, and headed out. Since Guerrero had the car, Riley took the bus and walked the rest of the way to the nearest store. There she wandered the aisles, picking up this and that. Mostly snack foods that she liked, since Guerrero kept a pretty full pantry. Craisins, roasted almonds, string cheese. And, of course, a gallon of Tropicana orange juice. It was while she reached for the jug that Riley felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and smiled in surprise. "Oh, hey!"

"Hi." Chance flashed his trademark grin. "Fancy running into you here."

"At the supermarket? People run into each other all the time."

"Yeah, but I don't usually come to this particular store," Chance explained, "It's kinda out of my way. But I just finished a case in this area and figured I might as well get a coupla things before I forget."

He swung his shopping basket from his hand in a way that put Riley in mind of a bored kid swinging his schoolbag. The thought made her smile.

"So," Chance asked, "how're things with you and Guerrero?"

Riley felt her mouth stretch into a silly grin at his question. She probably looked all starry-eyed. "Great," she answered, "He's, uh, out of town right now, though. Work."

Chance nodded. "You doing okay?"

Riley stopped herself from mouthing some empty platitude. Chance radiated the sort of open friendliness that made it easy to talk to him.

"Been a little lonely, but he's only been gone a day so far. I've been on my own long enough I know I'll adjust pretty soon."

The two of them drifted towards the checkout lanes while they talked and wound up waiting in the same line. Chance casually asked, "He leave you the car?"

"No," Riley snorted, "I doubt he'd trust me with his precious Cadillac even if he hadn't taken it. I took the bus."

"I can give you a ride back, if you want."

Riley looked at him. "Guerrero told you where he lives?" Somehow, she didn't see him giving that kind of info away, even to his best friend.

Chance grinned. "Well, not exactly. I figured since he's always spying on everybody else, I oughta return the favor." He winked.

Riley laughed. She could see why Guerrero liked him. And it wasn't like she couldn't trust him; Guerrero gave her Chance's number for emergencies, after all. "Okay, then. I accept your gallant offer for a lift."

The ride home proved far more pleasant than the bus trip. Chance possessed a wry sense of humor and a laid-back attitude towards life that Riley found refreshing. Before she knew it, the car pulled up into the driveway. "Thanks," she said, picking up her shopping bag.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you something," Chance spoke up as she opened the passenger door. Riley turned to him curiously. "You got any plans for tomorrow?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I was gonna take Carmine to the park tomorrow. Wanna come along?"

Riley's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Uh..."

Chance held up a hand. "No pressure or anything. But you did say you weren't all that happy being on your own, and I'm sure Carmine would love to see you again. Winston mentioned he took a shine to you."

Riley smiled at the memory of the adorable rottweiler. Oh, what the hell. "Okay."

Chance's smile broadened. "Sweet. I'll pick you up around eleven. That work for you?"

"Eleven's fine. See you then." She got out of the car and shut the door. She and Chance exchanged waves through the window, then Chance pulled out of the driveway and drove off.

Later that night, Riley struggled for sleep. The vastness of the bed only served to emphasize her loneliness. There was nothing to distract her at this late hour. She lay beneath the covers, eyes open, and wondered if Guerrero was thinking about her now. Or was he too busy with whatever task his client hired him for to spare a thought for her? Riley wasn't even sure where he was, let alone what this job entailed. She probably wouldn't want to know. But was he safe? Was it simple information gathering or something more dangerous? Riley tossed and turned.

A sudden noise startled her from her brooding. The cell phone Guerrero had given her blared: "_Oh, there ain't no __rest for the wicked/Money don't grow on trees-"_

She quickly snatched up the phone from the nightstand and answered it. "Guerrero?"

_"Hey, dude."_

The familiar greeting brought a smile to her face. "Thought you might've forgotten your promise to call."

_"Things got a little hectic,"_ he explained, _"Sorry if I woke you."_

"It's fine. I was having trouble sleeping."

_"Yeah," _Guerrero said, subdued, _"Me too."_

Riley listened to the sounds of his breathing. Her throat tightened. "I miss you."

_"Good to know,"_ Guerrero responded, his tone belying his apparent flippancy.

Riley snorted. "Still unburdened by sentiment?"

_"I'm loaded with sentiment,"_ he argued, _"Why the hell d'you think I called?"_

"I dunno. Maybe to ask me what I'm wearing."

_"Dude," _his voice rang with false hurt_ "You really think I'd stoop to something like that? Not cool."_

"So you don't wanna know what I'm wearing?"

Pause. _"Well, since you brought it up..."_

Riley laughed. "Okay, then. I am wearing...clothes."

_"Smartass,"_ Guerrero chuckled.

Riley closed her eyes and imagined him lying in some anonymous hotel bed, on top of the covers and fully clothed, one knee drawn up, eyes gazing up at the ceiling. Maybe a neon sign flashed through the window, bathing his hotel room in red light at regular intervals. Yeesh, she'd been watching too many pseudo-artsy detective movies.

They talked about inconsequential things for the better part of an hour, both clinging to the sound of each other's voice. Then Riley let out a yawn that Guerrero heard over the phone.

_"Sounds like you might have an easier time falling asleep now,"_ he remarked.

"'Cept now I don't wanna sleep," Riley said. She heard Guerrero's amused snort. "Oh, I almost forgot!" she exclaimed, "Guess who I ran into at the store?"

_"Why'd you go to the store?"_ Guerrero asked, his voice a little tense, _"The fridge was packed when I left."_

"We were out of juice. And you still haven't guessed."

She could tell he wasn't in the mood for guessing games. _"Who?"_

"Your buddy, Chance."

_"Oh. That's cool."_ Some of the tension left his voice. Chance was trustworthy.

"Yeah. He arranged a play-date between me and Carmine tomorrow. We're gonna go to the park."

_"You what now?"_ The tension ratcheted back up a notch. _"I thought I warned you about laying low."_

"It's not like we're gonna go streaking or anything," she chuckled, "We're just gonna hang out and play fetch with the dog. Nothing's gonna happen to me with Chance around, you know that."

Guerrero was silent for so long she worried the call got dropped.

_"I gotta hang up,"_ he said abruptly, _"Got things to do tomorrow I need to be sharp for."_

Riley bit her lip. "Okay. Guerrero?"

_"What?"_

"I can always tell Chance I changed my mind."

Guerrero sighed. _"No, it's fine. I'll call again tomorrow, okay?"_

"Alright. Bye, Guerrero."

_"Later, babe."_

Riley placed her phone back on the night table, then rolled over and grabbed Guerrero's pillow. She hugged it like a teddy bear, breathing in his lingering scent. She was still clutching it when she woke the next morning.

* * *

Guerrero ended the call , lay back on the motel bed, and glared up at the beige ceiling tiles. After a few minutes passed he hit the speed dial on his phone and brought it to his ear. It was answered after the halfway through the fourth ring.

_"H'lo?"_ Judging from the groggy sound to his voice, Chance had been sleeping.

"Hey, dude," Guerrero said with false cheer, "Heard you and Riley had yourselves a meet 'n' greet today."

_"Guerrero? Uh, yeah, I ran into Riley at the store. There a reason you're bringing this up at a quarter to midnight?"_

"No reason," he replied carelessly, "Just thought I'd let ya know Riley mentioned her little 'play-date' with your dog tomorrow and I wanted to be sure everything was cool."

_"Look, if you're worried about Riley's safety-"_

"Naw, man. I know you'll have her back. I just wanted to give you the heads up that if your...ahem..._dog_ doesn't behave himself, I'm gonna cut his balls off."

Stunned silence. _"Jesus! Where the hell did that come from?"_

"Nothing more than a friendly warning, dude."

_"Wait."_ A rustling sound; Guerrero imagined Chance pulling himself up into a sitting position on his bed. _"You don't think I'd try to make a move on her, do you? Because we both know that's bullshit. I would never do that to you, man."_

Guerrero heard the hurt beneath the anger in his friend's voice and felt his stomach twist. "No. I know you wouldn't."

_"Riley said she was lonely with you out of town and I thought I'd spend some time with her. As a _friend_. That's all."_

"I know. Look...I was being an asshole."

Chance snorted. _"You said it, not me."_

"I know you wouldn't screw me over like that." Guerrero felt like a total shit. What the hell was wrong with him?

Chance's tone softened. _"Y'know, even if I was that big of a jerk, I wouldn't stand a chance. You're all Riley thinks about."_

Guerrero's knee-jerk reaction was to scoff.

_"It's true," _his friend insisted, _"You shoulda seen the look on her face when I asked how you guys were doing. She really loves you."_

Guerrero shifted his position on the bed. "I don't care if she does or not," he mumbled.

_"'Kay, now you sound like an idiot, 'cause if that were true you wouldn't be calling me now, would you?"_

Guerrero closed his eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed. "Make sure she has a good time tomorrow, okay?"

_"I will,"_ Chance promised, _"Can I go back to sleep now?"_

Guerrero chuckled in spite of himself. "Sure, dude. Pleasant dreams."

_"See ya, Guerrero."_

"Later, dude." Guerrero dropped the phone onto the nightstand and folded his hands over his stomach, eyes closed. To all outwards appearances, he was the picture of relaxation. No sign of the turmoil beneath the surface.

He hadn't lied to Riley when he told her that he trusted her. He did. He knew she would never fool around behind his back, especially with his best friend. She had scruples.

_And she loves you, don't forget,_ his inner voice spoke up. But Guerrero wasn't quite able to convince himself. He concealed it well beneath layers of apathy and sarcasm, but the truth was, Guerrero avoided anything remotely like soul-searching not because he didn't care, but because he didn't want to dwell on the fact that his self-esteem wasn't nearly as developed as his self-confidence. To put it bluntly, he didn't think he deserved Riley. Hell, most people would agree with him, given his history.

Not Chance, though. He took his namesake seriously; he believed everybody deserved a chance at happiness, regardless of past mistakes. Even somebody as amoral as Guerrero.

_If I thought there was something I could do,_ Guerrero thought, _Maybe if I did something for her so I could feel like I earned her feelings for me..._ He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Perhaps the solution would occur to him while he slept.

* * *

Carmine was thrilled to bits to see Riley again. He snubbed Chance completely and lavished all his puppyish adulation on her. Carmine, Chance, and Riley spent hours in the park, laughing, running, playing fetch with sticks and Carmine's favorite ball. Riley forgot all about missing Guerrero as she frolicked with the ecstatic rottweiler with the enthusiasm of a girl half her age.

They didn't stop their play until they were too exhausted to run anymore. By then it was well into afternoon. For a late lunch Chance bought hotdogs from a vendor. He and Riley sat at a picnic table while Carmine sprawled at their feet, munching on a hotdog of his own.

"You spoil him," Riley laughed, watching the happy rottweiler snarf down his treat.

Chance reached down and thumped the dog's broad side with his hand. "He deserves it. He's gotten me through more than a few rough patches."

"You long've you had him?"

"Six years." Chance wiped a dab of mustard from the corner of his mouth.

Riley swallowed a mouthful thoughtfully. "So, you've had him since you quit your...old job."

He nodded. His eyes took on a faraway look one got from remembering, and his smile, while it didn't fade, now contained a hint of sadness. "He used to belong to a woman named Katherine Walters. She was supposed to be my last...assignment. I wound up trying to protect her instead."

Riley bit her lip. "She's the reason you quit."

"Yeah," Chance replied quietly.

A brief silence passed. "She didn't make it," Riley guessed.

This time Chance simply nodded. He felt a light touch and saw Riley's hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry," she said.

Chance didn't touch her back, but neither did he pull away. He smiled. "You kinda remind me of her."

"Really? What was she like?"

He gave it some thought. "She had a good heart. The kinda person who'd rush to help a stranger in trouble. And she didn't judge others by their past screwups. She only focused on the good she saw."

Riley smiled bashfully. "You make her sound like a saint. I don't think I can measure up to that."

"She wasn't a saint," he chuckled, "She was an ordinary person who tried to do her best." He regarded Riley with wistful eyes. "I'm happy for Guerrero."

She felt her throat tighten. "I love him."

"I know." Chance smiled.

It was then that Riley let out a yelp of alarm and Carmine dashed away with the rest of her hotdog in his jaws.

"Carmine!" Chance shouted, trying to sound mad and failing, "Bad dog!"

Riley was hunched over with laughter. "Eew!" She wiped her hand on her jeans. "Doggy drool!"

The rottweiler trotted back towards them, licking his chops and looking very pleased with himself.

Chance shook a chastising finger at him. "You're gonna get it, mister. No Milk-Bones for a week."

Carmine seemed to think it was worth it.

* * *

Riley tore the leaves off a head of lettuce and dropped them into a bowl, tossed in chopped carrots and radishes, and a dash of grated cheese. After that hotdog at the park, she was in the mood for some "roughage," as she called it, for dinner. She went to the fridge to get the bottle of Italian dressing.

_"Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked..."_

Riley quickly dug her phone from her pocket and hit send. "Hey! The sun's barely set. Work went smoothly?"

_"How'd your 'play-date' go?"_ Guerrero asked, sidestepping her question.

Riley giggled. "Carmine's so cute! Maybe we should get a dog."

_"No way, dude. Pets are way too destructive."_

She cocked an eyebrow, a useless gesture since Guerrero wasn't there to see it. "All pets or just the big four-legged kind? What about hamsters?"

_"Fluffy rats,"_ Guerrero retorted, _"Why pay for vermin when you can get 'em free at any dump?"_

"Okaaay. What about birds?"

_"Too damn noisy."_

"Snakes?"

_"Only people who should own those are zookeepers and strippers."_

Riley laughed. "Picky-picky. Alright then, how about fish?"

_"Fish?"_ he scoffed, _"Why bother? They got as much personality as a houseplant. You might as well get a screensaver or a lava lamp. It'd be less work."_

"Dropping in fish food and cleaning out the tank once in a while's hardly work," Riley countered, "I'd be happy to do it."

_"Then you can go ahead and knock yourself out, dude. Wait,"_ Guerrero's voice was edged with suspicion, _"Did you just talk me into getting a fish tank?"_

"Yes, you fell for my devious plan. Mwa-ha-ha!" she cackled absurdly, "Today the fish tank, tomorrow the world!"

_"You're really weird, you know that?"_

"I live with you, don't I?"

_"Touch__é__."_

"Gesundheit."

_"Augh!"_ Guerrero laughed, _"That was so lame, dude."_

Riley giggled. "Are you on the road now or are you gonna wait 'til morning?" she asked.

Guerrero hesitated. _"Uh, actually, something's come up."_

"What d'you mean?" Riley frowned.

_"This job's gonna take a little longer than I thought. Might be a few more days before I can get back."_

"Oh." Riley didn't even try to hide her disappointment.

_"Sorry, babe."_

"It's okay," she sighed, "I know you don't have a choice. I just miss you, is all."

_"Don't worry. Soon as this thing's done, I'm gonna rush back so you can show me just how much you've missed me,"_ his voice leered.

Riley grinned. "I can't wait."

_"Just keep thinking on that. I gotta go now."_

"Okay. Call me tomorrow?"

_"You bet. Later, dude."_

"Later." Riley ended the call with a sigh. A few more days on her own, then. "Maybe I should take up a hobby," she muttered, pouring Italian dressing over her salad.

Miles away, Guerrero tucked his cell phone back into his pocket and returned his hand to the wheel. While he didn't feel guilty about lying to her, he hadn't enjoyed it. But what he had planned, he preferred to keep to himself so that if it didn't pan out, Riley wouldn't have to deal with the disappointment.

He was backtracking to Riley's hometown. He needed to collect some info from the city's records. Once he got what he needed there, his search would begin in earnest. Guerrero had no idea how long it would take; could be less than a day, could be much longer. But he was nothing if not tenacious. He would find out the truth, and in so doing prove to himself that he'd earned the right to have Riley in his life.


	16. Finding Anna

**A/N:** Happy Valentine's Day! And to celebrate, this chapter shall have a suitably romantic ending (don't worry, the story isn't quite over yet). Enjoy! And thanks again for the reviews!

**Disclaimer: If _Human Target_ was mine, I wouldn't bother writing fanfic, would I?**

Unless they make a real effort to keep hidden, like FBI witness protection effort, finding people who've "disappeared" is ridiculously easy. What deters average people from doing so is simple ignorance; they have no idea how to go about searching. It's why private investigators and somewhat shadier professionals like Guerrero have a job to begin with. Ironically, most of the time it turns out that the "missing" people live within a hundred miles of the individuals looking for them, sometimes even residing in the same city. Riley's mother proved no exception.

It took minimal finessing for Guerrero to obtain the records containing Riley's mother's name and, more importantly, her social security number. Using this, Guerrero was able to track down her last known residence. She'd made no effort to hide herself from the world, not even going so far as to drop her married name. Anna Lindstrom lived in a suburb thirty-two minutes away from Riley's former apartment. Guerrero drove out to the address and found a modest single-story white house surrounded by lush flowerbeds. In the front yard was a sixty-something woman clad in faded overalls, bright green Converse sneakers, a green T-shirt, and a floppy straw hat. She stood with her back to him and wielded a pair of garden shears as she trimmed back the hedges bordering the yard. A radio set out on the front porch blared a catchy tune that the old woman sang along to. Guerrero almost busted out laughing when he realized the song was K.C. & The Sunshine Band's _Get Down Tonight._

"_...Baby, babe, I'll meet you,_

_Same place, same time,_

_Where we can all get together,_

_And ease up our minds._

_Do a little dance, make a little love,_

_Get down tonight._

_Get down tonight."_

The woman paused in her snipping to wiggle her ample bottom along to the "get down tonights." Guerrero's shoulders trembled with suppressed mirth.

The woman suddenly spoke up, "If you're here to try and sell me something, you can just turn right around and get back in that fancy car of yours."

Guerrero blinked in mild surprise. The old woman had seemed totally lost in her own world. "No, ma'am," he replied, erring on the side of politeness, "I'm not selling anything, just looking for someone."

She turned to face him. The silver hair peeking from beneath her floppy hat was cut boyishly short. Her face was weathered from many long days outdoors, and her eyes, peering from behind a pair of rimless glasses, were flinty gray. "And who might that be?" she asked.

"Anna Lindstrom. This place was listed as her current address. Are you her?"

"Nope," the woman swung her shears up to rest them on her right shoulder, "I'm Margo Prentis. Anna's my sister. We moved in together after we both lost our husbands."

Hmmm. "How long ago was that?"

"'Bout thirty years. Why?"

Guerrero smiled. "That's interesting, considering Anna's husband was still alive 'til just a few years ago."

Margo's eyes narrowed. "What's your business with Annie?" she asked, voice laden with suspicion.

Guerrero stepped closer until only a few feet separated him from the old woman. He countered with a question of his own. "She ever mention a daughter?"

Margo tensed, eyes widening. "Riley? Is she okay? Did something happen to her?"

The intensity of her concern surprised him. "She's fine," he reassured her.

Margo took a step closer, narrowing the distance between them even further. "Are you a private investigator? Did Riley hire you to find Annie?"

Guerrero hesitated. His first impulse was to play it safe and lie, but something about this no-nonsense lady made him reconsider. Aunt or not, she obviously cared about Riley's wellbeing. "People do hire me to find things out for 'em," he admitted, "But Riley's not a client. She doesn't even know I'm here."

Margo searched his face. "She means something to you."

Guerrero swallowed, nodded.

Her expression softened. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "Annie passed away two years ago."

* * *

Riley cut open the last bag and dumped its contents into the tank. She and Chance had spent the afternoon at the pet store where Riley purchased a thirty gallon aquarium and all the accoutrements she could wedge inside it, along with dozens of fish. There were black mollies, guppies, albino catfish, goldfish, and a few snails to act as a natural cleanup crew. The rainbow-colored gravel lining the tank's floor supported numerous plastic plants, a ceramic shipwreck with lots of jagged holes for the fish to swim in and out of, a plastic deep-sea diver wrestling a plastic shark, and a fake clamshell that flipped open to disgorge a froth of bubbles and reveal an equally fake pearl.

"Think we went overboard with the accessories?" Riley asked.

"Nah!" Chance scoffed, "You can never have too many fish tank accessories. I still say you shoulda sprung for the color-changing volcano."

Riley laughed. "Well, I thought we should leave _some_ room for the fish to swim around." She picked up the fish food container and unscrewed the cap. "Heeere fishy, fishy!" she cooed while she sprinkled a pinch of smelly flakes over the water. The motley school immediately darted for the surface to peck eagerly at the food.

Chance smirked. "I can just imagine the look on Guerrero's face when he gets home and sees this."

Riley's grin was subdued. He would've been home now, if not for the delay in his work. Instead of waning, her loneliness for him only seemed to intensify the longer he was gone. "D'you think I'm needy?" she suddenly asked.

Chance blinked in surprise. "Needy? No. What makes you think that?"

She shrugged. "It's just...the only time it doesn't hurt is when he calls."

Chance smiled and put a sympathetic arm around her shoulders. Riley leaned against him.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with that," he told her, "I'm betting Guerrero feels the same way, though he'd never admit it even under torture."

Riley snorted. She turned a little to wrap her arms around him in a hug. "Thanks for keeping me company. You're a good friend."

"My pleasure," Chance smiled.

It was something of a relief for both of them that Riley's initial attraction towards Chance had cooled. Though she still found him handsome, she no longer shied away from physical contact with him. Hugging him now was like hugging a good-looking, yet totally off-limits cousin. Still, they both agreed it might be best not to do that sort of thing in Guerrero's presence.

Chance's phone rang. He and Riley parted so he could fish his cell out of his pocket and answer it. "This's Chance."

Riley heard Winston's deep voice drone from the earpiece, but wasn't able to make out what he said. Chance uh-huhed a couple of times, then said, "Alright. I'll be there in a few." He hung up, turned to Riley with an apologetic look. "I gotta go. Winston's got a client waiting back at my place."

Riley nodded in understanding. "Okay. Guess I'll see you around."

Chance smiled, gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I'll give you a call later."

"'Kay."

They said their goodbyes, then Chance left. Riley turned to the crowded fish tank. "Guess it's just me and you guys."

The fish ignored her.

* * *

Margo insisted on fixing them some tea. Guerrero sensed this was something she did when she was anxious, so he left her to it. While the old woman puttered in the kitchen, Guerrero wandered through the cozy home, taking in the comfortably used furniture, the vases of dried flowers situated here and there, the framed photographs on the wall. Some of the pictures were faded with age, while others were obviously more recent. Most of them were of Margo and another woman that could only be Anna Lindstrom, showing different periods in their lives from young women to silver-haired matrons. Guerrero was struck by the resemblance the younger images of Anna bore to her daughter. The same dark brown eyes, the same rounded features. Her nose even crinkled the same way when she laughed. In all the pictures where both women were together, they were inevitably touching in some way, holding hands or embracing, one resting her head on the other's shoulder.

One particular photo showed them when they were middle-aged. They were on the porch swing together, Margo sitting, Anna lying with her head pillowed on Margo's lap. The women's eyes gazed into each other's with an intimacy that seemed to shut out the rest of the world.

In some other pictures there was a boy who looked a little like Margo. The images ranged from child to teen to young man.

"Who's the boy?" Guerrero asked, calling over his shoulder.

Margo's voice answered from the kitchen, "My son, Taylor. He moved to Seattle after he graduated from high school and married a nice girl he met in college. They still live there with my grandbabies."

Taylor probably took most of the photos of the two women together.

Guerrero wandered down the house's lone hallway and opened the first door he came to. It was a bedroom with a single bed and faded movie and band posters on the wall; Taylor's old room, no doubt. Judging from the boxes cluttering the floor, it was now being used for storage. The next door Guerrero came to was the bathroom, which smelled strongly of potpourri. Guerrero wrinkled his nose and quickly backed out of there. The last door was another bedroom, the only other one in the house. Guerrero stared at the neatly made queen-sized bed.

A soft noise behind him made him turn. He saw Margo standing at the end of the hall, sans gardening hat, with a guarded expression on her face. "Tea's ready," she said.

Guerrero nodded and followed her back into the living room. They seated themselves on the couch and Margo poured them each a cup from her functional brown teapot, then offered Guerrero a cookie from a plate. "Store bought, I'm afraid. Can't seem to muster the enthusiasm for baking these days."

Guerrero, who could never turn down food, offered or not, took a chocolate chip cookie and ate it in two bites.

Margo sat pensively, cradling her steaming cup in both hands, until Guerrero finally asked the question she waited for. "You and Anna weren't really sisters, were you?"

She shook her head, staring into her cup. "It's...hard for met to talk about. People of my generation, we didn't discuss such things. Not like today, where people treat it as almost normal."

"'It' being two women who share a bedroom," Guerrero prompted.

Margo set her cup down on the coffee table and turned her gaze to him. "Annie was the love of my life," she said, her tone challenging, "No one completed me like she did."

Completed...yes, Guerrero thought, that sounded right.

"That why she left her family?" he asked.

Margo pursed her lips. "She didn't want to leave Riley behind. She wanted to stay a part of her daughter's life, but her husband, Ethan, wouldn't allow it. Even if Annie was the kind of person to take it to court, no judge would've sided with her once he knew about our relationship. Not then."

"You didn't seem to have that problem with your kid."

"My husband is dead," she explained calmly, "He died in a car accident the year before I met Annie. Ben, my husband, was a good man, but...something in our marriage had been missing. We went through the motions, but neither of us was truly happy. Annie was going through the same thing with Ethan. Neither of us understood what made us different from all the other happy wives out there until we found each other. We tried to pretend what we felt for each other wasn't anything more than friendship, at first. But people can only lie to themselves for so long."

She sighed, shifted to a more comfortable position on the couch. Guerrero leaned back and took a sip from his cup, content to let her tell the story at her own pace.

"When we finally understood that we couldn't live a lie anymore," Margo continued, "Annie insisted on being up-front with Ethan about it. Ethan was furious. More than that, he was humiliated and ashamed. He said he wouldn't allow us to taint his daughter with our presence and demanded that we move away." She shook her head. "It was the most painful thing Annie ever did, but she agreed to do just that. We moved out here, bought the house with my husband's life insurance money, and settled down to raise my son together."

"So she just packed up and left," Guerrero stated, anger in his voice, "Just forgot all about Riley so she could play house with you."

Margo's expression hardened. She rose from the couch. "Wait here."

Guerrero watched her disappear down the hall, returning moments later toting several shoeboxes he remembered glimpsing in Taylor's old room. Margo set the boxes down on the coffee table with a heavy thump and seated herself on the couch once again. She indicated the boxes with a sweep of her hand. "Take a look."

Curious, Guerrero set his cup down and reached over to lift the lid off the topmost box. It looked like it contained a bunch of large index cards until he pulled the first one out and realized they were envelopes. Sealed envelopes with Riley's name on them, the oldest ones yellowed around the edges, postmarked as delivered, but sent back with the words RETURN TO SENDER scrawled in thick black letters. If it was possible for handwriting to convey rage, those three words certainly did so. They were written down so firmly the pen tore through the envelope in some places.

"Annie wrote to Riley every week," Margo explained while Guerrero continued to thumb through the envelopes, "Ethan always sent them back. Then a few months later the post office stopped delivering them altogether. He and Riley had moved away."

Those envelopes bore more official-looking stamps instead of hand-lettering: UNDELIVERABLE. NO FORWARDING ADDRESS. From then on the envelopes only had Riley's name and a date written on them. No address, no postmarks.

"She kept writing anyway," Margo said, her voice fading as her sadness grew, "Every week, faithfully. She kept hoping maybe someday Riley would come looking for her and she would be able to read them all. Annie didn't stop writing 'til the cancer got so bad she couldn't move anymore." She choked on the last words, turned away with her hand over her mouth, eyes gleaming with un-shed tears.

Damn it, Guerrero hated when old ladies cried. They reminded him of his grandma. He found a box of tissues on the end table and picked it up, offering it to Margo. She pulled out a tissue and dabbed her eyes. "Thank you," she sniffed.

Fortunately, she got a hold of herself pretty quickly. Once she was dry-eyed she faced Guerrero again. "Tell me something, Mr. Guerrero. Does being with Riley make you happy?"

He was surprised by the question. He would've expected her to ask about Riley's happiness, not his. He took a moment before answering. "Yeah."

"Does she fill a part of you that's empty without her?"

"Yeah," he said, quieter.

Margo leaned forward, the look in her gray eyes intense. "Do you think you deserve her?"

He swallowed, his throat tightening. "No."

The old woman's lips curved in a sad smile. "I never thought I deserved Annie, either. Know what I did about it?"

Guerrero shook his head.

"I did my damnedest to make her so happy she never got the chance to wise up and leave me." She tapped the side of her nose. "That's the secret."

A slow smile crept over Guerrero's face. "Sounds crazy enough to work."

Margo nodded. She got up again and went to a nearby bookshelf, returning with a large volume Guerrero recognized as a photo album. "This was Annie's. She put it together for Riley. I want you to take this with you, along with the letters. Give them all to Riley. Let her know her mother didn't forget about her."

"I will," Guerrero promised. He stood, slipped the album into his backpack, then picked up the shoeboxes.

Margo helped him load them all, three decades worth of letters, into the El-Do's trunk. Once they finished, Guerrero turned to the old woman and said, "Thanks. For everything."

Margo nodded. "Thank you for searching for Anna."

Without another word, Guerrero got into the car and drove off. Minutes later, while on the road, he got out his cell phone and dialed Riley's number.

"Hey, dude," he gave his signature greeting, "Just calling to give you the good news. Job's done. I'm on my way home."

* * *

The second she saw the El-Do pull into the driveway, Riley dashed out the side door into the garage. The vehicle was parked, the engine killed, the garage door lowering with a rattle and a hum. Guerrero got out of the car and was almost bowled over by Riley crashing into him. "Whoa, dude! I wasn't gone _that_ long," he chuckled.

Riley showered him with kisses interspersed with I-missed-yous and you're-backs. Guerrero took hold of her shoulders and backed her against the car, his mouth closing over hers in a deep kiss that stole the energy from her frantic actions. Riley's arms went around his neck while his wrapped around her waist. When they finally parted Guerrero stared at her flushed cheeks and swollen lips and he wanted nothing more than to fuck her up against his Cadillac right then. But there were other things that had to be done. Reluctantly, he drew away from her welcome embrace and took her by the hand. "C'mon. Need your help with something."

Curious, Riley let him lead her to the back of the car where Guerrero opened the trunk to reveal over a dozen dusty old shoeboxes.

"What's all this?"

Guerrero picked up a stack of three boxes and placed them in the surprised woman's arms. They were heavier than they looked. "Help me carry this stuff into the house," he told her.

Riley sighed, realizing she wasn't going to get an answer right away, and toted the boxes through the door, followed by Guerrero with his own stack. Inside, he indicated that the boxes should be placed on the coffee table. As they turned to head back out for the next load, Guerrero caught his first glimpse of the new aquarium. He stared at the thirty gallon monstrosity sitting on a table by the bookshelves, teeming with fish and tacky decorations, and turned to Riley with a raised eyebrow.

She smiled innocently. "What?"

Guerrero shook his head and continued towards the garage. This startled Riley even more; she'd fully expected a quip at the very least. What on earth was in those boxes that had him so preoccupied?

Once the last shoeboxes were brought in, along with Guerrero's duffel bag and backpack, Riley stood by the overloaded coffee table with her arms crossed and asked, "You gonna tell me what all this is about?" She tried to sound assertive, but only managed to come across as anxious.

Guerrero approached her and took hold of her shoulders. "There's something I gotta confess first."

Riley swallowed nervously. "What?"

"When I called and told you the job was gonna take longer than planned," his expression looked contrite, "I was lying. The job was already done by then."

"You..." Riley shook her head, too confused and hurt to be angry. "Why did you lie to me?"

Guerrero's right hand moved to cup her cheek. "'Cause I didn't wanna get your hopes up 'til I knew for sure."

"Knew _what?_" she asked, her frustration growing.

Guerrero went over to the boxes and began to sort through them. There were dates written on the lids: June 1983-October 1986, February 1990-January 1994, and so on. He opened up the box with the earliest dates and pulled out the first of what Riley saw was hundreds of envelopes crammed inside. Wordlessly, Guerrero handed the envelope to her. Riley hesitated, then took it from him. She stared at the front of it, saw her name written neatly over an address she no longer remembered, saw her father's handwriting telling the post office to return to sender, saw the name on the return address. Riley gasped. The envelope slipped from her fingers, but she managed a clumsy catch before it reached the floor. Clutching the yellowed envelope in her hands, she looked at Guerrero in a way that was both hopeful and frightened.

"Y-you found her?"

Guerrero slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, baby. She died two years ago."

Riley's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes blurred with tears. A mournful sound emerged from her throat. She felt Guerrero gently guide her to the couch, felt him settle down beside her and put his arms around her. She leaned into his comforting embrace and let her sorrow overflow. She wept for the mother she would never get to know and the questions which would never be answered.

"Why...Why didn't she find me? Where was she?" Riley sobbed, "Why did she leave?"

Guerrero told her everything. Anna falling in love with Margo, Riley's father banishing her from their lives, the letters Anna never stopped writing until the day she died. By the time he finished, Riley's sobs had diminished. They sat in silence for a moment, Guerrero rocking them back and forth. Riley sniffled and touched a damp patch on Guerrero's shoulder. "I got your shirt wet."

Guerrero smiled. "'S okay."

She looked at the letter she still clutched in her hand. "She still loved me."

"Course she did." He kissed her on the temple, then reached out to pick up his backpack. Riley straightened and watched as he reached into the pack and pulled out a photo album. He handed it to her. "Margo thought you should have this, too."

Riley lay the album across her lap and opened the cover. The first picture it held showed a young woman cradling a baby in her arms. The woman's face was suffused with joy, the infant's with bewilderment. Riley's breath hitched. She touched the baby's image with her fingertip. "That's me." Her finger moved to the joyous woman. "That's my mom."

She traced the long forgotten contours of her mother's face, her expression rapt. She was hardly aware of Guerrero's quiet departure from the room. Alone, Riley looked through the photos of her mother's life, from vibrant youth to contented old age. When she'd looked through the album from cover to cover, she set it aside and picked up the first letter, breaking it's thirty-plus year seal. The letter it contained was short, less than a page, but said everything that needed to be said.

_Dear Riley,_ it began in her mother's neat handwriting, _I'm sorry I had to go away so suddenly. When you're older, I hope you can understand why I had to leave. For now, though, all you need to know is that it wasn't because of anything you did. You've always been my good girl. And it's not your daddy's fault, either. Everything he does is because he loves you very much. Always listen to what he says. Keep being our good girl. I love you so much, Riley. I miss you more every day. I promise to write to you as often as I can. I love you. Love, Mommy._

Fresh tears rolled down Riley's cheeks as she carefully folded the letter back into its envelope. She then set it aside and reached for the next. She had many years of catching up to do. More than she could ever get through in one sitting, she knew, but she needed to read as many as she could now. She needed to know who her mother was.

Guerrero kept a low profile while she worked her way through her mother's letters. He checked on her once in a while. Sometimes he saw her crying, sometimes smiling, sometimes both at the same time. Hours passed by. Guerrero fixed Riley a sandwich and set it down within her reach. She ate mechanically, probably unaware that she did so.

As evening segued into night, Guerrero holed up in his office to catch up on some paperwork. Yes, even in the shadowy world of his chosen career, there was still paperwork to deal with. Accounts, correspondence, friendly reminders to certain individuals that if they wanted certain photos to remain hidden they needed to be prompt with their payments. He was almost caught up from his time away when the door to his office opened and he looked up to see Riley framed in the doorway. Guerrero rose from behind his desk and went to her. "You okay?"

She nodded. "I wanted to thank you."

Guerrero put his arms around her, felt her head rest against his shoulder. After a little while passed her muffled voice asked him, "Why'd you do it?"

"I wanted to," he answered vaguely.

"But why?"

Guerrero shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

Riley sighed, and for a moment he thought he'd upset her with his evasiveness, but instead when she drew back to meet his gaze with her own reddened eyes she calmly spoke of a seemingly different subject. "You know, when I looked at those pictures of my mom and that other woman, Margo, I realized if I'd seen 'em six years ago, I wouldn't have understood how she could look so happy when her letters say how much she missed me. I wouldn't have understood why she had to be with her, even though it meant losing everything else." She reached up to cradle his face in her hands, the stubble of his five o'clock shadow rough against her palms. "But I understand now, because it's the same reason I need to be with you. Do you know what it is?"

Guerrero didn't answer. He wasn't sure he could.

"I need to be with you," Riley continued, "because you make me a whole person." Smiling, she placed a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you, Guerrero."

Her words brought a pain he feared he could not endure. But he didn't fight it. He let the pain break down the walls he'd spent a lifetime building around his heart, and the emotions he'd kept locked away slipped free.

"I love you, Riley."

Their mouths connected in a soulful kiss, their bodies clinging to each other. Riley laughed as she felt herself lifted and spun about in a joyful act Guerrero would have rolled his eyes at had he witnessed it done by anyone else. But for now he was too euphoric to care. Once he set her back on her feet the two of them ran hand-in-hand to the bedroom where they made love well into the night. There was another thing Guerrero always regarded cynically, the phrase "making love." A way to pacify people's sensibilities by giving a pretty name to the base act of fucking. But he couldn't for the life of him think of any other way to describe what he and Riley experienced that night. Something which transcended the mere physical act, when every barrier between them came down and they were left completely open to each other.

When they were finally too exhausted to continue, they lay naked atop the covers, their bodies spooned together, arms and legs entwined, eyes closed.

Riley felt Guerrero's breath against the nape of her neck as he spoke, "Should warn you I probably won't be sayin' that again anytime soon."

"What?" she asked drowsily, "That you love me?"

"Mmhmm. Not really my style, y'know."

"It's okay. Knowing's enough for me."

A few moments of contented silence, and then, "Riley?"

"Hmm?"

Guerrero whispered into the shell of her ear, "I wanna meet Ethan."

Riley didn't answer, nor did she open her eyes. But her mouth stretched into a broad smile.


	17. The Best Parts of Them

**A/N:** This, I'm sorry to say, is the final chapter. I had a blast writing this story and I hope you all enjoyed reading it. Special thanks to **tree979, Angels-heart1, atheneblue, SpadesJade, movieexpert1978, Flaca514, marvelchick, GuerreroLuva, baluga's own, cmg202, rainefan, **and** aloysia piton** for all your enthusiastic reviews.

**Disclaimer: (sniff) Woe is me! I do not own _Human Target_ or its characters.**

Riley stared out the side window watching the houses with their bright green lawns coast by. With each block that passed she and Guerrero came that much closer to meeting their son. Riley had gotten in touch with the Holdens and given them a brief, highly edited version of recent events; reuniting with Ethan's biological father and moving out to San Francisco to live with him. Drew and Nancy didn't hesitate to extend their invitation for a visit to Guerrero as well. They said Ethan was excited by the prospect of meeting them.

Excited didn't begin to describe what Riley felt. She felt as if a dozen live mice were scuttling around in her guts. She didn't even realize her left leg had been jiggling throughout the ride until a hand clamped down on her knee and stilled its movement. Her head jerked towards the driver's seat where Guerrero, one hand still gripping her knee, cast her a sidelong look and smirked.

"Nervous?" he casually asked.

Riley laughed. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Guerrero gave her knee a squeeze, then returned his hand to the steering wheel. "You're doin' everything but bite your nails, dude."

"I can't help it," she fidgeted, "I'm no good at hiding my feelings."

"That's 'cause you never tried."

Riley frowned. "Does it bug you that I'm transparent?"

He shook his head. "No. I kinda like it, actually. It eliminates a lotta guesswork for me."

"Well, anything to make your life easier," she said wryly. She took in his relaxed shoulders, his light grip on the wheel, and the planes and angles of his face devoid of tension. Guerrero had plenty of practice at hiding his emotions behind a mask of indifference. For all the expression he showed, they might as well be headed for the grocery store.

"Are _you_ nervous?" she asked.

He glanced at her. The corner of his mouth gave the faintest twitch. "Yeah."

"Oh, good," Riley sighed, relieved that she wasn't the only one.

Guerrero chuckled. "So, you gonna tell me what's in the box?"

Riley glanced down at the small box she clutched in her hands, the same box she'd brought with her when she left her apartment for the last time. "It's Ethan's birthday present."

"I know that, but you still haven't told me what it is."

She smiled, carefully straightening the decorative bow she'd tied onto the box that morning. "It's something my dad gave me when I was little. It's been in the family a long time and...I wanted to keep up the tradition." She lifted her gaze to meet his. "Think that's silly?" she asked, expecting him to say yeah.

"No," Guerrero replied, surprising her. There was something almost somber in his eyes. "Kinda wish I had something like that to give him." He hadn't brought a gift, not because he hadn't thought of it, but because everything he considered seemed either too extravagant or too cheesy, so he finally gave up in frustration.

Riley's expression softened. "It's a family gift. It's from both of us."

Guerrero smiled. He nodded at a passing street sign. "Almost there."

Riley's leg began to jiggle again.

Guerrero parked the El-Do at the curb in front of the Holdens' place. Riley took in the vibrant green of the lawn, the picturesque little house festooned with colorful streamers and a banner over the door declaring HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ETHAN! She could make out more decorations and balloons in the backyard where the celebration would be held. She and Guerrero had decided not to attend Ethan's party, but rather to visit him a couple of hours beforehand. They didn't want to distract the boy from his celebrating, plus they felt their presence would just be too awkward.

As Riley and Guerrero got out of the car, the front door swung open and there he stood, Ethan, dressed in a bright red T-shirt and jeans, staring at them across the front yard with wide blue eyes. Riley's breath caught in her chest at her first sight of him in the flesh. Heart pounding, she fumbled for Guerrero's hand and was grateful for his strong grip.

"No turning back now," he murmured, as much to himself as to her.

The little boy turned and yelled over his shoulder, "Mommy! Daddy!"

Within seconds Nancy and Drew Holden joined him at the door. Two excitable balls of fur squeezed past them and dashed over to the approaching couple, snuffling and wagging their tails. Frank and Joe, the Hardy Boys. Despite her nervousness, Riley couldn't help but grin at the pair of dogs.

"Boys!" Drew called, "You know better than that!"

Yapping happily, Frank and Joe ran back to the house where a smiling yet firm Drew shooed them inside.

Nancy trotted down the porch steps and approached Riley and Guerrero as they came up the walkway. She smiled broadly in welcome. "Riley, it's so good to see you!" Nancy embraced her with genuine warmth.

Riley smiled and returned the hug. "Thank you for this."

"It's the least we can do." She turned to Guerrero. "And you must be Gary."

Riley managed to hold back her laughter at the name Guerrero had chosen. Gary Guerrero, Jesus.

"Hi," he said, offering a hand to shake. Nancy playfully slapped it aside and pulled the startled Guerrero into another one of her welcoming hugs.

"You don't need to be formal. We're family!"

Guerrero threw Riley a look over the woman's shoulder. _Is she for real?_

Riley grinned.

Once she released him, Nancy escorted the couple to the house. They mounted the steps to the porch where a beaming Drew waited to greet them. He gave Riley a peck on the cheek and a quick embrace and offered Guerrero his hand, much to the smaller man's relief. The entire time the adults exchanged hellos Ethan watched from a position slightly behind his daddy's leg, a finger stuck in his mouth in a gesture reminiscent of a toddler sucking his thumb. Drew placed a gentle hand on the boy's head. "Ethan, say hello to Riley and Gary."

"H'lo," Ethan mumbled shyly. His large eyes gazed at the two new grownups in timid curiosity.

Guerrero felt a tightening in his chest as he looked down at the child. Christ, he could see so much of himself in the boy, but cleaner, innocent. The way he leaned against Drew in casual trust, the way his adoptive parents looked at him with obvious devotion. Did the kid realize how lucky he was to have all this?

Guerrero knelt down to bring his eyes level with the boy's. He hoped the smile he offered came across as nonthreatening. "Hey, little dude."

Ethan abruptly grinned, his smile so similar to Riley's it brought an ache to Guerrero's heart.

"Daddy says you're my god-father."

A slight crease appeared between Guerrero's eyebrows. "Um..."

"He says you're my god-father 'cuz God sent you 'n' my god-mother to make me, 'cuz Mommy an' Daddy couldn't have a baby without help. Daddy says I wouldn't be here without you."

Guerrero had to admit, apart from the god stuff, it was a pretty good way of explaining it all in a way the child could understand. "Sounds about right."

Riley knelt down beside him. Guerrero could see from the way her eyes shone she was close to tears. "Happy Birthday, Ethan," she said.

Again, that radiant smile. Ethan's gaze went to the box cradled in her hands. "Izzat for me?"

"It is." Smiling, Riley held the box out to him. "Would you like to open it?"

Shyness momentarily overcome by eagerness, Ethan left the shelter of his daddy and reached out to pull one end of the ribbon. The bow came undone and the ribbon slid away from the box. The box itself was unadorned wood, scarred and darkened with age. The boy lifted the lid and peered inside. If anything, his curiosity only grew at what he found.

Guerrero and the Holdens, equally curious, leaned in to catch a glimpse at the box's mysterious contents. Ethan reached in and pulled out something black and heavy, _two_ somethings, really. Lengths of black iron twisted into uneven loops around each other. They clanged dully as Ethan turned them in his hands. "What are they?"

"Something that's been in my family a long, long time," Riley explained, "All the way back to my great-great-_great_ grandfather, who lived during the wild west."

Ethan's eyes widened in awe. "Was he a cowboy?"

"No," Riley smiled, "He worked on the railroads. Those old steam-engines you see in some cowboy movies? My very great grandfather helped lay down the rails those steam-engines ran on, miles and miles of 'em. He didn't have much money for presents, so when his little boy had a birthday coming up, he took two railroad ties and had them bent into that." She pointed at the object in Ethan's hands. "When his boy grew up, he gave it to his kid, who gave it to his kid, until my dad gave it to me. It's a puzzle. You have to separate the two pieces. Wanna see?"

Ethan nodded and let her take it from him. Riley manipulated the twists of metal and, with hardly a pause, ended up with the separated pieces in each hand. "Once you know how, it's easy," she said, reattaching the pieces once again, "The tough part's figuring it out. You just have to keep working on it and not give up. Think you can do that?"

Ethan nodded and eagerly took the puzzle back. His first efforts proved fruitless, as Riley knew they would be, but she saw beneath the initial frustration a stubborn persistence that would win out in the end. Ethan looked at her and, without any prompting from his parents, said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Riley smiled.

They all went into the house where Ethan immediately commandeered the visiting couple. He showed them his room and all his favorite toys. He chattered about his friends who'd be coming to the party later, the games they would all play, the gifts he hoped to get, and the dinosaur-shaped cake his mommy baked. Guerrero took it all in and saw a boy who'd never known a day of suffering in his young life, who had yet to experience the hardships life was bound to throw at anyone at some point. Guerrero was glad to see his son growing up in a safe, nurturing environment. With any luck, Ethan would grow up to be nothing like the man who sired him.

The time passed quicker than any of them realized. Before they knew it, it was time for Riley and Guerrero to leave. Ethan actually looked disappointed. "Willya come back again?"

Riley glanced at the Holdens, saw their nods of encouragement. "Of course we will, sweetie." She knelt down and gave the boy a hug, which he returned without hesitation, one hand still clutching her present to him.

And once he finished hugging Riley, Ethan went to hug Guerrero. The instant those little arms wrapped around his neck, Guerrero felt something crack deep inside him, a fissure in the armor around his heart. He'd felt it before with Riley, and it didn't hurt any less this time. But he didn't shy from it. He put his arms around his son and let the child's innocent love flow into him. When they drew apart, Guerrero mussed the boy's hair. "See ya, dude."

Ethan giggled. "See ya."

Nancy and Drew said their own goodbyes. "Come visit whenever you like," Nancy told them, "You're always welcome here."

"Thank you," Riley said, then she and Guerrero left.

The first guests pulled up just as the El-Do drove away. Riley looked in the side mirror and saw an Asian woman and her little boy heading for the front door, the boy hopping frantically in an effort to hurry his mother along.

They drove in silence for much of the return trip. Riley finally broke the silence more than halfway home. "He's the best parts of both of us."

Guerrero swallowed. "I don't think I can handle it, dude."

"What?"

"Seeing him," he said quietly, "Watching him grow up. Waiting for the day someone comes after him."

Riley touched his shoulder. "You'll keep him safe."

"Not from everything," he said. His hands tightened on the wheel. "I fucking hate this. My life was so much easier when I didn't have anyone to care about."

"I know," Riley murmured, "I think the same thing every time you walk out the door, wondering if the next job's gonna kill you."

Guerrero looked at her, at the fear of loss in her eyes the same as his own. He turned the wheel and brought the car to the side of the road, put it in park and undid his safety belt. Riley reached for him as he leaned across the seats and kissed her. "I don't want you thinking I'd ever give you up," he whispered against her lips.

"I don't," she said, kissing him back. Her fingers tangled in his hair. His hands cradled her face.

"I'm never giving you up," he said fervently.

"You better not."

They kissed for several lingering moments, then Guerrero drew away with a sigh. He buckled his safety belt, merged back into traffic, the taste of Riley on his lips a promise of something more later on.

A few minutes passed before Riley suddenly asked, "Your name isn't really Gary, is it?"

Guerrero laughed in amazement. "You're just now asking? Didn't you ever wonder what my name is?"

"Sure," she shrugged, "But I figured if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me."

He shook his head. "There's only a handful of people left alive who know my real name, and that's only 'cause we grew up together."

"So you never voluntarily told anyone?" she asked.

"Nope."

"Not even Chance?"

"Not even him."

The ranch house came into view. Guerrero turned into the driveway and hit the garage door remote, pulling into the garage once the door had risen high enough. He killed the engine and turned to look at Riley. She smiled at him, content to sit in silence and meet his gaze with her own.

She'd given up her old life for him. She had a son with him. She loved and accepted him for all that he was, never once asking him to change or give up the work that could take him away from her. She asked for nothing, accepting whatever he was willing to give, and giving all of herself in return. She completed him.

Guerrero reached out and cupped her face. "C'mere."

Riley leaned towards him, expecting a kiss, but instead Guerrero moved aside to whisper into her ear. Her eyes widened. When he drew away she pressed her lips tightly together. A snort of laughter managed to escape.

"Well?" Guerrero asked, pretending not to notice her barely suppressed mirth.

"No wonder you don't tell anybody."

"Shut up," he laughed and got out of the car. Riley followed suit, circling to meet him at the door leading into the house. She gently brought him to a halt when she slipped her arms around his waist. Guerrero smiled and put his arms around her in turn, hands resting at the small of her back.

"Doesn't matter what your name is," Riley said. She touched her forehead to his. "I know who you are."

Guerrero smiled and pulled her closer. "You're the only one who does."


End file.
